


Alphas and Omegas

by Links



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, First Kiss, First Time, Gen, Gender Issues, HIV/AIDS, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mystery, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Sherlock, Other, Slow Burn, V for Vendetta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-12-02 04:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 48
Words: 95,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11501607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Links/pseuds/Links
Summary: Fantasy/Dystopian AU.In a strictly codified society ruled with an iron fist by Alphas, Sherlock is the first male Omega to be born for more than a century. Mocked and taunted at school, shunned by the highborn society, he finds some solace in his impending Bond to Victor Trevor, a promising physician.The sudden death of his father, hit by mystery illness, leaves him grief-stricken but also determined to get answers. In his quest for truth, he will strike up an unexpected friendship and fall into a forbidden romance. But the powers that be don’t like nosy people – especially those who don’t abide by their rules. And in the shadows, someone is biding his time...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT on August 10th - I've decided to go on with this story. It will be updated regularly, I'll try to post at least once a week BUT be warned it looks like it'll be a behemoth of a story, so take a seat and be patient please :)
> 
> EDIT on August 31st:  
> Warning, dear readers: I'm afraid this story will cover sensible topics and include scenes which could be trigger warning. I'd avoid unnecessary gory/dreary scenes - for instance no rape/non-con scene here - but be warned for the rest if you don't think you can bear it :)

_I have blessed you with my Mark, I have chosen you among all the other men. You are Mine to order now._

_The Father Above to Cohn, First of His Name_

_Old tales of the islands – Unknown author_

**  
**

**1.**

My father died a few hours ago.

I stare at his corpse, which already bears so little resemblance to the man I’ve known.

The man I remember.

The bright Mark on his forehead has already disappeared, leaving in his wake pale skin dotted with age spots.

It’s wrong to see him like this – an old, diminished man. Unmarked.

A prayer automatically rises to my lips “Father Above, Creator of all things, bless my Alpha’s soul. Give him a place in your kingdom, to the right of Cohn, First of His Name. Give him…”

The words get stuck in my throat.

_Give him my love._

_Tell him I’ll see him in my Dreams…_

No – I can’t say that.

The truth is I’ll never receive again one of his Dreams.

I won’t hear his voice in my mind any more.

I swallow heavily, tearing my red, puffy eyes away from the body.

I lightly stroke on my wrist the scar born at the same time my father died. I hoped against all odds to keep the Mark I’ve always seen there, the perfect replica of my father’s one.

The Mark binding me to him, claiming for everyone to see that I was his son – even though I’m one of the few male Omegas.

An anomaly in the eyes of many.

Now, this Mark is no more. There’s only this ugly, tiny scar which states more surely than a thousand words that my father, my Alpha is dead and with him, the life I’ve known.

“Sherlock? Are you all right my dear?”

The smooth voice of my stepmother reaches me through the door, bringing me back to reality.

I close my eyes in frustration. Which kind of person can ask someone if she is ‘all right’ while he is standing in front of his father’s deathbed?

But I know it is pointless to retort to her.

I don’t think I can endure her repeating “Would you rather he remained with us and kept on suffering?” like she did this morning, when I was seated at the breakfast table, doing my best to hold back my tears.

An empty sentence, which doesn’t ease my pain in the slightest.

“Sherlock?”

“I’m coming, Mother.”

She’s not my Mum, she never will be, but I’m required to call her “Mother”.

Omegas like myself must always be courteous, polite, well-spoken and a thousand other things I have repeatedly failed to observe when I was at school, to the great dismay of Miss Leech, one of my teachers.

Violet lets out a loud sigh.

“Don’t stay too long. It would be very improper to keep our guests waiting.”

I clench my hands until my nails draw bloody crescents in my palms.

“Yes, Mother. I’m coming,” I repeat.

Please let her take the hint and give me a moment alone!

I need it.

But Violet doesn’t seem to hear my wordless prayer. Far from leaving me and joining her Coven’s members in the sitting room, she stays put. I remain motionless, determined to stand here until I can say farewell to my father. She has no right to intrude on what little time I’ve still had with him.

“Sherlock… I know what you’re feeling right now. It’s hard to lose someone you’ve always felt close to.”

Is she talking about my Dad? Or someone else? Maybe that first husband who died of a yellow fever? Or maybe not – if the rumours were right, he was growing tired of waiting for her belly to go round with child and was contemplating repudiating her when he was struck down by the illness.

Fortunately, Violet can’t hear what I am thinking right now and goes on. 

“But remember your duty to yourself and to your family.”

“I never forget it,” I reply in a sharper voice than I intended. “I just want to pay my last respects to my Alpha if that isn’t too much to ask.”

An ominous silence falls between us.

I bite my lip. This time, I may have pushed her too far. With my father deceased and Mycroft still under age, my stepmom will be sure to be declared official ruler of our house.

I remain therefore under her authority. At least until I leave Cohn Island, which is bound to happen next week. A prospect which excites me as much as it fills me with dread. 

I hold my breath, convinced that my stepmother won’t resist the temptation to launch into one of her tedious speeches about the proper behaviour for a yet-to-be-claimed Omega.

But no sound is coming from the other side of the door.

After a while, I finally hear her voice “You’d do well to get rid of your superfluous sensibility, Sherlock. Remember it’s a common Omega flaw. A tender heart is not suitable for a New Husband, as you well know. You must learn to be practical.”

I don’t even get the opportunity to reply my usual “Yes, Mother”. The soft swish of her black dress against the carpet first reaches my ears before I hear her footsteps in the stairs leading to the ground floor. Her guests’ voices echo straight away, an indistinct murmur which sets my nerves on edge.

“How nice of you to have come to us in this time of grief,” Violet has welcomed her Coven’s members when, one by one, they have arrived to our house this morning.

As if they had the possibility to refuse.

Sometimes, I can’t stand all the pretences, all the fronts we have to put on day after day.

My father would have understood, I think, my gaze flicking over his still form. He used to make fun of the Coven’s members in such a manner they never were aware of his double entendre. I had to stifle my laugh while the Omegas around me simpered and cooed at him, his charm and wit leaving them as flustered and starry-eyed as schoolgirls. When he had enough, he always gave me a discreet wink before leaving.

I’m sure Violet has never been aware of this little game between us.

I realize I’m stroking absentmindedly my wrist again. The skin around the scar is already turning red. If I don’t stop now, it’ll become even more irritated.

I raise my head, frowning at my paleness. It’s one of my many flaws and one of the reasons for which I’ve been treated like a delicate, weak thing, always on the verge of falling sick.

As Violet proved it once more when she refused that I stayed with her at my father’s bedside.

“Sweetheart, I know you want to help, but I can’t risk you being infected. Especially not now you’re engaged to Victor…”

And she shut the door gently but firmly in my face.

As usual.

My isolation would have been easier to bear if the doctor, who examined my Dad when the first symptoms appeared, hasn’t betrayed his incompetence from the start.

“I really don’t understand, I have never seen anything like this… It’s a remarkable case!”

Hidden in the adjoining room, listening to his words through the wall, I gritted my teeth.

“Dear Madam, I promise you I will send a Dream to one my colleagues, a wise man well-versed in the study of the very few illnesses which can still plague the otherwise robust Alpha constitution. I’m sure that he will pay a special attention to your husband…”

Such sweet words. I nearly wept with joy when I heard them.

I remember how this hope was swiftly crushed when I found out the next day that no specialist would come at my father’s bedside.

“Why? I don’t understand!”

“Don’t worry, darling,” Violet said with a lovely smile, which didn’t reach her eyes. “I will nurse him back to health.”

But she didn’t.

My father died.

Far from me, nearly alone in his room, in which I was forbidden to enter.

Did he try to call me? Or to send me one last Dream?

The familiar hot flush of guilt spread into my veins.

If only I have let my mind open.

If only I haven’t retreated within my safe haven.  

The veil bearing the Republic’s arms, in which my father will be buried tomorrow, is already waiting for him. Unknown hands – servants’ hands without any doubt – have folded it with care before laying it down next to the bed.

One of the many rituals preceding the funeral on Silent Island – an event I have been barred from attending.

 “It would be unwise, Sherlock,” Violet replied with a frown when I dared to broach the subject earlier. “I know it’s dreadful, darling, but the laws as regards New Husbands and Brides have been established for a good reason. What would Victor say if he knew that I have put you in danger?”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I truly don’t care what some unknown Alpha will think of my behaviour. I just wanted to accompany my father on his last journey.

But it would be outrageous for an Omega to say so and therefore I remained silent.

I suddenly feel very tired. Tired of being here, held prisoner in my own house – which wasn’t my home any more – before being sent away for good.

Tears are pricking my eyes when my gaze suddenly falls on his ring. I guess that he didn’t want to remove it, even during the illness’ terminal phase, when all his strength was gone and Violet had to feed him like a new born.

He used to clean the heavy band of gold until it was shining like a star fallen down on earth.

 “Look at it, Sherlock!” he would say. “My father passed it on to me on his deathbed and I have never taken it off since. One day I will give it to your brother.”

Anger surges up within me at the thought of the ring on Mycroft’s finger.

No. It belongs to me.

My heart is furiously pounding in my chest as I move closer to the corpse.

I’m a thief. I’m a lawbreaker.

If Violet could see me right now, she would be horrified.

She could even denounce me before the Watchers’ Office. According to the Omega laws, I’m not allowed to come into anything having belonged to my father.

But I simply cannot care about all this at the moment.

It is easy to take the ring off his finger. I feel its weight in my hand – it’s so light. It leaves me with a weird feeling, sending a chill down my spine. As if a ghost has chosen this moment to try to spook me.

Footsteps are echoing in the corridor.

_Quick, hide it!_

I’ve barely the time to do so when Mycroft roughly opens the door.

My half-brother is impeccably dressed, from his properly polished shoes to his shiny tie, setting off the golden Alpha Mark on his forehead.

A Mark of which I’m deprived.

He immediately tenses at my sight.

“What are you still doing here?” he barks.

“Keeping watch over our father,” I reply, hoping that my red cheeks and alarmed expression won’t betray me.

He glances uneasily at the body before focusing his eyes on me again.

“That’s enough. You should be downstairs with the Coven’s hens,” he says with a disdainful drawl.

I grit my teeth, but I don’t dare to retort.

“As you wish,” I whisper before leaving the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a huge THANK YOU to the persons who left me a comment and/or Kudos to this work! You really helped me making up my mind as regards this story and so I decided to give it my best shot... Wish me luck!
> 
> I know that this story won't get loads of Kudos and hits. And it's okay, so long as I can be motivated to carry on with this fic...  
> Anyway, without further ado, let me give you the second chapter!
> 
> And for those who want a little explanation about its content - It's a flashback in Sherlock's childhood and we get to see what Dreaming means for this society.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sherlock stares in wonder at the brand new room. Dad has told him it would be “wonderful” but he still hasn’t expected something like what he has under his eyes. Everything, from the huge dome bearing the Republic’s flag to the reclining seats awaiting the honoured guests, seems so beautiful, so glamorous that the little boy is a bit afraid to touch them.

That’s saying something, he thinks, considering the fact he lives in one of the largest houses on Cohn Island.

It’s fortunate that his small hand is still nestled in his Dad’s big paw, guiding him among the little groups of grownups talking to each other. Otherwise, he thinks, he will be left behind and get lost, distracted as he is by the imposing splendour around him. Even Mycroft, who is always so quick to run his mouth, remains silent, clinging to his mother’s skirts since they have left the house.

Sherlock can’t resist the temptation to turn his head to smirk at his baby brother – something that Omegas, even when they are older brothers, are not supposed to do.

But Mycroft doesn’t even react and anyway, he has not been caught, that’s the main point.

The crowd around them thickens, it’s getting louder until Sherlock is not even able to hear himself. It’s something he has not experienced until now. Even during the war, when the planes were roaring above his head, the voice in his mind has never been drowned, whispering to him to not be afraid, that his Dad will come back safe and sound.

A private ritual, since Sherlock, with all the fierceness of a seven-year-old, turned down every one of Violet’s offers to pray together.

But right now, the voice is just too busy cataloguing everything around him - from the heavy perfumes permeating the atmosphere, blending together in a cloying mix, the bright jewels hanging on the ears or around the neck of just-claimed Omegas, glinting under the artificial lights and dazzling the little boy’s gaze, the growling voices of Alphas stopping to greet his Dad - “Evan, so great to see you again, mate!” “Alpha Holmes, it’s such an honour to meet you…” – without taking into account the cries of joy of Alpha children slipping from their nannies’ clutches to jump on the free seats.

Dad’s hand suddenly clasps his tighter, attracting his attention. Raising his head, Sherlock realises he has spotted the loud, unruly boys who are happily taking part in the general hubbub.

Boys who are so different from himself.

Sherlock can’t help staring at them. His gaze lingers on their sturdy bodies, their round faces, simple, undiluted joy etched on their features. On the bright Mark on their foreheads.

In comparison, Sherlock seems so… bland. Pale. Scrawny. Nose always stuck in a book.

And no Mark to speak of.

Sherlock straightens himself. He’s determined not to think about it tonight.

Tonight is a time to enjoy, Dad says. Enjoy being alive. Celebrating the end of the war.

And the return of the Dream.

Sherlock can’t wait to finally experience this.

* * *

 

He is brought back to reality by his father’s harsh voice.

“Will you look at this, Violet?”

He nods at the young women, trying to calm down – in vain – the little Alphas they are responsible for.

“These nannies are not fit to raise children! If they already behave like true little rascals here, I do not dare thinking about their attitude when they’re at home!”

Hearing these words, Sherlock feels a surge of pride – he holds his head a little higher.

Suddenly the questions weighing on his mind and to which he’s not sure he will ever find answers don’t seem so important anymore.

If his teachers could see him now, they certainly would scold him for his “improper bearing for an Omega”, but right now the young boy doesn’t care. He glances up at his Dad. He’s sure that, if he tells him right now the stern criticisms which always seem to be piling up against him when he’s at school, the fierce and honoured Alpha Holmes will only laugh before brushing them aside with a gesture of his large hand.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, for me you’re perfect!”

 “My dear husband…”

The soft voice of Violet makes Sherlock wince. He doesn’t need to glimpse at his stepmom to know that a little smile is creasing her lips – the same smile that he cannot really endure anymore.

 “Of course you’re right, they hardly deserve the status of nannies…”

“I hear a ‘but’ in your voice. Come on, tell me what you really think, then.”

“I mean no offence, my beloved Alpha, but maybe you could show some tolerance today?”

His Dad tenses at her words and Violet hastens to add

“The war has just been over for two weeks, surely everyone – even silly young things – can let their hair down and enjoy themselves? Especially if our beloved Chancellor offered us the opportunity to do so…”

She plays it really well, Sherlock thinks, who notices right away his Dad relaxing his stance a little bit.

But before he gets the opportunity to reply to his wife, one of the waitresses moving among the guests stops next to him, a heavily-loaded tray in her hands.

“Can I offer you something, Sir?” she asks, her gaze demurely lowered, her head slightly bowed.

* * *

 

Sherlock frowns – he’s sure that if his teachers could see this Omega, they would praise her modesty, her sense of belonging to the lower class, an instinct which leads her to show the nape of her graceful neck to the Alpha gaze.

Somebody who knows her place, as Miss Leech would say.

The little boy shrugs and stands on tiptoe to better eye the contents of the tray.

From cigars and cigarettes to fuming tea poured in finely engraved glasses, everything – even the sweets – has the same light green colour.

“Do you want something, sweetheart?” Violet asks Mycroft, who enthusiastically nods. Violet chuckles, takes a lolly from the tray, offers it to her son who immediately puts it in his mouth.

Sherlock wrinkles his nose. Despite the artistic display, he isn’t really tempted by the sugary confections – he would prefer a cup of tea. But Violet never lets him taste a full cup, saying it’s too “strong” for him, whatever it means.

But maybe his Dad doesn’t share her view?

He turns to him, already opening his mouth.

But no sound ever comes out of it.

His Dad doesn’t pay him any attention – his gaze is focused on the waitress. Or rather her neck. And even more astonishing, his lips are moving, whispering words that Sherlock cannot hear in the young girl’s ear. The Omega remains motionless but the little boy can see her cheeks flushing.

He doesn’t understand. Is the waitress guilty of something? Has she done any wrong? What can her Dad tell her about? Does he know her?

Confused, he turned back to Violet – only to find her staring at her husband.

Her gaze drops to Sherlock. During a fleeting moment, he can see in his stepmom's eyes something he is sure he has never glimpsed before - hard, cold resentment. But it only lasts a second and before Sherlock can voice one of the many questions springing to his mind, Violet offers him her usual benign smile before addressing his Dad

"My dear husband…”

Sherlock can hear a grunt of annoyance right behind him but it doesn’t deter Violet in the slightest.

"I do think our eldest is old enough to taste tea, don't you think?"

Finally! Sherlock is excited but above all, curious - will the beverage taste better than the sweets which often gave belly aches as well as a bittersweet taste lingering on his tongue?

"Such a brilliant idea! Come on, darling, choose a cup!" his Dad prompts him.

Even if it's another thing Omegas are not supposed to do – so many rules to remember! – Sherlock doesn’t obey immediately. He stares at his father. He detects nothing unusual on his face – his handsome, regular features emphasised by the golden Mark on his forehead. The waitress, when he looks at her, hasn't moved - head bent, gaze lowered. Hands holding the tray in a calm and complacent manner. Not a blush, not even a hint of red across her cheeks.

Sherlock wonders. Has he dreamed the whole thing?

* * *

 

"Sherlock, don't make us wait! The screening is about to begin!"

Faced with his Dad's impatience, he hastens to pick a cup and downs the hot liquid in two gulps, the beverage nearly scalding his tongue and the inside of his cheeks.

"Such a good little Omega you are,” Dad says with a smile before turning to his youngest. “Come with me, Mycroft, we have to choose seats for your Mum and your brother!"

The stifling noise in the room nearly drowns Mycroft’s protest - "Sherlock isn’t my brother!" - but he doesn't really care. Not this time.

Around them the crowd gets even more excited. The feverish expectation makes voices sound louder, the ladies' laughter reach shrill, wild notes in the smoky haze slowly smothering the room. Amidst the tempestuous waves of fine dresses and military uniforms, Sherlock does his best not to let Dad out of his sight. And when he finally stops, waving impatiently at him and Violet to join him, he hastens his steps.

"Quick, sit down!" he barks. Sherlock readily obeys. When his father is like this, he is no longer his Dad, this nice, witty man he knows and loves so much. No - he's the army captain, a men's leader and he does not suffer any impertinence. Even Violet, with her ever-present simpering smile, is aware of this - she complies without saying a word. Only Mycroft, seated next to Dad, dares opening his mouth

"Why is it taking so long? I’m hungry!”

The glare he receives in return makes him lower his head. Good, Sherlock thinks with a vicious thrill of joy, before letting himself slumping back against his seat, in a pose which would be sure to draw a horrified screech from Miss Leech's mouth if she was here to see it. But she's not – she wasn’t important enough to be invited.

And this mere idea fills the little boy with a secret pleasure.

As soon as the last stragglers are settled in, the light coming from the impressive chandeliers is dimmed until hundreds of little firefly glows remain, confined to the edges of the room.

They are soon eclipsed by the stars lighting up on the ceiling, shining down on the guests who “oooh!” and “aaaah” with admiration.

Sherlock hears someone on his right whispering “The Dream is starting again!”

* * *

 

He doesn’t really know what they are talking about – he was way too young to have experienced it when the favourite form of entertainment of the Islanders was snatched away from their heads and hearts by the war.

A smile blooms on his lips. It feels so good to be included at last in this crowd's enthusiasm. To finally become a part of the Dream.

Sherlock would love to be able to glimpse his Dad's face, to exchange with him a conniving glance but he doesn't dare raising his head.

"My beloved Islanders," a well-known voice suddenly booms.

Sherlock recognises it instantly - he heard it so often in the last weeks of the war, when the bombing raids stopped and the radio network was functioning again.

"Alphas and Omegas," the Chancellor carries on in his deep voice, "I welcome you tonight in this theatre. I trust you haven’t forgotten it was one of the first buildings of our fine city to be caught in the same wave of destruction which nearly succeeded in undoing our civilisation a few years ago."

It sends chills down Sherlock’s spine.

He remembers seeing the famous Bridge of Sighs, the only access to the Citadel, the Chancellor’s headquarters, and a masterpiece in itself, being reduced to a great heap of rubble. It actually is one of his first memories.

The war has barely started when the bombing occurred.

People were screaming for revenge, white sheets lying over the victims’ bodies while the river was inexorably dragging along what remained of the bridge.

“But now the war is over. Tonight, we are celebrating the victory of our valiant soldiers…”

A few cheers echo in the reverent silence.

“Tonight, we are enjoying again the newfound peace…”

The crowd is starting to clap. Sherlock finds himself being won over by the general enthusiasm.

An enthusiasm which exponentially increases when the Chancellor roars in the speakers “Tonight, I give you back the Dream!”

The applause is so loud that Sherlock, who just sat up in his seat, nearly misses the soft vibrations in his back. Puzzled, he turns his head round. Just in time to see two metallic antennae slowly unfurling from behind his seat’s headrest.

They look so spindly that the little boy fears a simple touch can break them. But all around him, the grown-ups, who are obviously used to manipulate them, take hold of them, pulling them roughly around their heads until the soft, fleshy discs at the end of each device are stuck on their temples.

“Here, darling…” Violet softly but firmly pushes him back into his seat. “Let me adjust them for you.”

Fascinated as he is by the whole mechanism, Sherlock even forgets to protest. Even when he sees out of the corner of his eye his Dad doing the same with Mycroft. A bitter jealousy floods his heart. He looks away.

“There, you’re all set,” Violet says while pulling down the metallic half-circle over Sherlock’s brow, preventing the “pads”, as she calls them, to be dislodged.

“Now close your eyes and relax!”

* * *

 

For once in his life, Sherlock does as he’s told. His whole body is buzzing with excitement. He finally gets to experience the Dream! He will not only be able to admire the newest productions of DreamWorlds, the firm commissioned by the Chancellor to create the DreamSeries, but he will finally receive any Dream his Dad will send his way. Anything he would be willing to confide in him, any little thought of his, any secret he could share, will only cost a Dream between him and Sherlock.

He tightens his grip on the armrests, his mind aflame with all the possibilities opening in front of him. Of course, he knows he will have to follow a strict discipline – a closed mind is hardly going to be an advantage for this kind of communication. And Omegas like him are not able to send any Dream of their own – only Alphas have this ability.

Nevertheless, the little boy is excited to finally get access to this world which has been until now forbidden to him.

He takes a deep breath, impatiently awaiting whatever is bound to happen…

Pain explodes in his head.

Sherlock lets out a surprised wail.

The frames popping on the inside of his eyelids are nothing like the descriptions Dad or Violet has told him. It’s a blur of colours and forms, unwinding so quickly that he feels dizzy. It turns his stomach, bile already flooding his mouth.

And then come the smells. The sounds.

Everything becomes too loud, too harsh, too vivid.

Sherlock is overwhelmed.

His mind does not belong to him anymore.

He screams.

A never-ending sound reverberating in the whole room, drawing the Dreamers out of their trance.

A hard blow lands on his cheek. The hot, metallic taste of blood seeps into his mouth. A reality that helps the little boy escaping the nightmare his mind has become. And his release is complete when the device is roughly removed from his head.

Sherlock has no time to enjoy the respite - his Dad's angry face swims before him.

Without a word he yanks him off his seat, gripping his forearms and obliging him to stand up on his wobbly legs.

"Father..." Sherlock whispers.

He has to make him understand what just happened.

But Dad pins him on the spot with the most furious glare he has ever seen on his face.

"Silence!"

He pushes him forward in the narrow aisle. Sherlock nearly trips over the feet of a pregnant Omega, who is staring at him, completely horrified.

He becomes aware that they are the only ones standing in the room. Everyone is looking at them.

The shame is suddenly crushing the little boy.

Among all the other persons he was the only one who makes a fuss. Who couldn't stand the Dream – the Chancellor’s gift.

He slowly makes his way through the room, wiping his wet cheeks off with the back of his hand. He can feel the weight of the Dreamers’ gazes on him. The same question buzzing in their minds as it’s buzzing in his – What is wrong with him?


	3. Chapter 3

“Anna, you didn’t forget to put the blue cloak in the trunk, did you?”

“No Madam, but I fear it has already been sent down in the hall,” the maid replies before adding. “I can ask for it to be brought back upstairs if you want to check.”

“Don’t bother,” Violet breaks in with a quick gesture of dismissal. “It’s not as if it couldn’t be easily replaced…”

I fight the temptation to frown at my stepmother. Of course, she would say that in public. The worst thing is that she’s right.

It’s not as if this cloak or any other garment I own has been patiently and laboriously embroidered, knitted or even sewn over the years by my own hands.

I consider the neat little piles of my clothes on the window seats. I have no doubt that, for a workman like those labouring in the gigantic factories or on the docks of Cohn Island, they would represent the finest things he ever had the fortune to possess.

In my eyes though, it’s the saddest, most pitiful excuse for an Omega trousseau I have ever seen.

I turn away from this depressing sight.

I don’t know why Violet insisted on observing the old traditions such as this Trousseau Packing.

All these ceremonies punctuating the last days of a New Bride before she gets officially Bonded to her Alpha and accepted into her new family. All these events which should concern me but all they ever achieve is leaving me even more isolated from everyone else.

I sigh. This Trousseau Packing is even more dreary since there’s no one around me. During our last meal, Violet told me over and over again to invite “some friends of mine”.

Mycroft sniggered when he heard this.

He knows I don’t have anyone I may call a friend.

Not since I was deprived of James’ company. And even then I never did have the chance to express what I was feeling to him.

Not that he would have been allowed here if he hasn’t left all these years ago.

No Alpha is permitted to attend the pre-Bonding ceremonies.

It’s Omega territory.

Or rather women’s privilege, I think, glancing around the room which seems now so empty.

In my case, there won’t be giggling Omegas around me to admire ball gowns or maternity dresses I have no need of. Or a wise Mom to instruct me in Bonding and Bedding rituals like Bonded Omegas are supposed to tell the yet Unclaimed ones.

I don’t even know if Victor would like to touch me and…

I feel myself blushing up to my ears at this very idea. Damn my pale skin!

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Violet slowly pacing up and down the room.

She examines the list of my trousseau, lips pursed in a tight line. The golden light of this mate morning flows through the high windows and underlines her slender figure. Despite the drabness of her black dress, she looks every inch the perfect Omega – a caring and attractive housewife, attentive to every detail. Even the small dark mark on her wrist emphasizes rather than diminishes her classical beauty.

I wonder if, after her mourning time is over, elderly Alphas will try to claim her. Of course Violet is not likely to bear them any children – everyone knows that the older the mother is, the weaker the offspring will turn out to be – but Miss Dare has taught us at school that some Alphas past their prime were looking for a companion rather than a future mother.

Or will they wait for Mycroft to come of age before making him an offer for his mother’s Bond?

One thing is sure – I won’t be here to see all this.

Raising my hand, I lightly stroke my temples, my fingertips drawing little circles on my skin. The Dream which has given me this pounding headache – the official announcement stating that Violet has been declared ruler of our house – has come at dawn, startling me out of my sleep.

Usually, I can keep them at bay, taking refuge behind my own mental fortifications, enjoying the peace of the Mind Palace I have built in my mind.

But it’s no use trying to resist Dreams coming from the Watcher’s Office. They hit with all the strength of a sledgehammer on a piece of white hot metal. It’s devastatingly easy for them to smash my defences and to invade my head, leaving me weak and nauseous afterwards.

Such irony that it was to inform me of something I already knew.

Smothering a yawn, I’m careful not to attract Violet’s attention – a good thing she is engrossed in my Trousseau Packing.

I thought so at least until I hear her asking “Sherlock dear, did you take your remedy this morning?”

Of course every person present in the room turns to stare at me. A hot blush blooms in my cheeks, spreading fast across my face.

I hate that, in a single glance, Violet can read me like an open book.

I hate even more that, with a few words, she reminds everyone of my failure.

Another weight to add to the burden on my shoulders.

“Yes,” I reply through gritted teeth.

I don’t say the remedy in question is completely useless. Nothing more than a drug addling my senses, plunging me into a delirious fog.

I should know – I’ve tried so many of them, hoping every time that it would be the cure I longed for. The miracle which would spare me any blinding pain when I tried opening my mind to the Dream. Some pill or syrup to make me look a bit more normal in everyone’s eyes.

No such luck though. I gave up long ago taking so-called remedies. I prefer being in pain. At least it’s honest, it keeps me on my toes. An advantage I cannot do without, especially when Violet is around.

Her clear eyes relentlessly roam all over my face before she turns away.

“If you say so, darling.”

A victory conceded with ill grace.

I take it all the same.

* * *

 

“Let me check one more time…” Violet mutters, her gaze going back and forth between the list in her hands and what is left of my belongings.

The maids who are still fluttering about in the room, quickly exchanging a word, a smile behind their mistress’ back, turn to her and hang on her words.

“I think it’s done!” she finally exclaims, a relieved smile on her lips.

Following her example, all the maids, from old Beth to Jane, who has only been in our service for a week, let out small cries of joy, echoing under the high ceiling. I observe their happiness, their pride of having finished off assembling what I still considered as a mediocre task.

Tomorrow at first light, the journey to Victory Island, my new home, begins.

Tomorrow, I officially start my life as a New Bride – or Husband, in my case.

I don’t really know what I’m supposed to feel right now.

Should I be happy that I would finally get to know this Victor I never met, never heard of until my father announced during last Bedding month that I was to be betrothed to him?

Should I be relieved to leave behind me all these nasty rumours which still spread about me?

Or should I feel terrified that once I set foot on Victory Island, I would have to bear the weight of new duties and expectations?

“Come on, darling, don’t be a wallflower!” Violet says, the rosy colour in her cheeks making her look younger than her thirty-four years. She beckons to me. I have no other choice than slowly getting up from my seat, doing my best to answer the maids’ enthusiastic good wishes.

Even Unmarked Stefania, who almost never speaks aloud, raises her head long enough to quietly say “The Father Above bless you in your new life, Mister Holmes.”

My “Thank you” is as strained as the smile on her face.

After a light lunch, all I want to do is to lie down on my bed and get some rest. The Dream of this morning is not the only one responsible for my sleepiness. Since I stole the ring which should have legitimately passed to Mycroft, my mind has been swarmed with nightmarish scenarios. The very idea that my half-brother – or my stepmother – might discover my theft leaves me out of breath, ice cold fear spreading inside my chest. And yet I can’t bring myself to relinquish the only inheritance I would ever have from my father.

Against all odds, a tenacious instinct encourages me to keep the ring for myself.

At night, when I toss around in my bed, unable to fall asleep, it whispers in my ear

_Why should you leave it behind? Why should Mycroft inherit it? He already gets everything he wants, doesn’t he?_

I grit my teeth. As much as I don’t want to think of it, I can’t deny it’s true. Egged by Violet, who has always spoiled her only child rotten, my Dad has never refused Mycroft anything. Expensive toys when he was younger, fine clothes, ostentatious carriages, money to gamble with his friends… Everything his greedy heart has desired has been offered to him.

Why should he care then for an old ring?

In my heart though, I know that what I’m thinking right now is dangerous. That feeling of being entitled to something goes against the education I have received.

It makes me afraid. Even more than the possibility of being discovered.

Because the enemy in this case won’t be Violet, Mycroft or even this unknown husband waiting for me on Victory Island – it would be myself.

* * *

 

“Sherlock? Where are you going?”

“In my room, Mother. I’m not feeling very well…”

Playing the sick card usually gets me what I want, especially as everyone knows the consequences a Dream might have for me.

But not this time.

From the bottom of the stairs, Violet looks up at me, a “tut-tut” sound on her lips.

“Oh darling, don’t play coy with me!”

I tense at these words. What does she mean? Does she know something? Will she finally talk about the ring’s disappearance, as I feared she would do since my father’s burial?

“You have New Bride nerves!” she resumes, going upstairs to join me on the landing. “Don’t worry, it’s totally normal…”

I remain frozen on the spot, a relief so intense spreading inside my heart it makes me weak-kneed. I grip the wrought iron railing and try to compose my features, faking a nervous smile just in time for Violet to glimpse it.

“I’m… I’m a little afraid, it’s true.”

“And that’s why you shouldn’t be left alone today!” she replies, putting her hand on my elbow and taking me along with her.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

My stepmother darts a puzzled glance at me.

“In my conservatory, of course! You didn’t think I would forget your Coven’s Farewell, did you?”

I smother a groan. Father Above, have pity on me.

“Not exactly,” I answer, lying through my teeth. “But is it suitable to organise it so soon after my father’s death?”

I cannot help provoking her a little. But Violet doesn’t rise to the bait, even if her grip on my arm grows tighter.

“Nonsense, darling. Your father would have been very cross with me if I had used his death as an excuse to wallow in self-pity and to let my duties as your stepmother slip from my mind.”

A sentence which reminds me that before my Dad, she already went in mourning for her first husband. The one she never speaks of, which isn’t unheard of for a widowed Omega, especially since Violet got Bonded again, but still…

All my questions about my father’s death, the silence surrounding his illness, the way I was forbidden to enter his room even during his last moments surge once again in my mind. I find myself opening my mouth, torn between the desire to know at last what happened and the voice in my head, screaming at me not to give myself away.

As if she has sensed my dilemma, Violet turns around. I stop just in time not to bump against her.

“Sherlock…”

She seizes my hands between hers. I fight the impulse to free myself from her embrace.

“As he was dying, your father’s only wish was to see you happy. And I would do everything in my power to make it come true.”

She seems so sincere, so honest as she stands there, staring at me.

I don’t know what to think anymore. I simply nod.

“Come along now, let us prepare everything for your Farewell!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I have some exciting news (well at least they are for me!).   
> I've been brave enough to outline this whole story and... Well, I did say it would be a behemoth? Turns out it is! But at least this way I (roughly) know where I'm going with these characters so cheer up, readers, if you're still willing to journey on with me and our dear Sherlock...  
> Another thing that you may have noticed - the rating is (finally) on! I might decide to change it later, according to potentiel events between our dearest idiots *wink* but for the moment, it's set on "Mature".  
> And finally, this chapter is another flash-back, in which Sherlock meets someone who might turn out to be important for him... :-)  
> Without further ado... Let's go!

Sherlock hastens to close the door behind him. Panting for breath, he lets his head fall against the cherry wood while listening very carefully to any sound coming closer to his temporary refuge. But apart from the slight buzz emanating from the electric lamps in the corridor and the faint echoes of the sharp cries of seagulls, whose fleeting shadows he can glimpse through the sole window, he doesn’t hear anything else.

No quick footsteps, which means that he did succeed in losing any of his teachers who might have had the terrible idea of trying to follow him when he ran away from class.

No whispered insults either.

Sherlock feels his legs giving way beneath him and slides down to the floor. He takes in the silent, empty room he has come across in his wild flight. Considering the layer of dust on the benches, tables and other pieces of furniture which have been relegated here, it’s obvious no one has used this place – or rather this box room – since a long time.

Sherlock finds himself comforted by this idea. He has been longing for some peace and quiet for quite a while now but he has never hoped to find it within the walls of this school. Maybe, if he is very cautious and doesn’t stay here too long, he could go back to this disused class and build here a nice little shelter for himself. Far from everyone’s eyes and ears, a place where he could get some respite from the glances other Omegas are increasingly stealing at him and the sharp rebukes of the teachers.

A room where he could think. And be himself.

Sherlock draws up his – stupidly long, gangly – legs and leans in, laying his forehead on his knee. Ten minutes, he thinks. Ten minutes and then he will come back to class. He’s already composing in his mind a proper apology for Miss Leech in the hope that she will be satisfied enough with it to spare him any punishment.

He does not become aware that sleep is slowly but surely creeping up on him, shutting his eyes and drawing him into a dreamlike word – a sweet universe, without any pain –where he gets what he most desired.

Being normal.

* * *

 

He is brusquely woken up by something hitting his back before pushing him towards the wall. Confused, eyes wide open, Sherlock lets out a surprised cry before scrambling to his feet. What happened? He understands right away when he glimpses the fading light through the room’s only window. Oh Father Above – he has fallen asleep. He can say goodbye to his hope of avoiding any scolding. Now he will surely get at least a very public dressing-down, catching once again everyone’s attention and being forced to hear all those words which grated on his ears.

Freak. Anomaly. An aberration which should never have been allowed to live.

“There you are.”

Lost in his thoughts, Sherlock didn’t realise he wasn’t alone any more. As a result he is badly startled when he heard this smooth, very male voice. He turns round, just in time to catch the newcomer’s face starkly lit by the lamps of the corridor.

It’s a teenage boy who looks as old as him, but Sherlock only has eyes for the bright, golden Mark on his forehead.

An Alpha.  

His mouth goes dry as a wave of icy cold fear engulfs him whole.

To be seen now, alone in the company of an Alpha who is not a blood relative… It’s even worse than everything which has already happened to him. Instinctively, Sherlock takes a step back, but finds himself cornered against the wall. And the only way out means getting closer to this stranger, which is out of the question.

Sherlock is trembling now and he has never despised as much his Omega status as well as the helplessness, which goes hand in hand with it, than right now.

Everything would be so much easier if he were an Alpha.

If, as every male of his acquaintance, he has been born with the Mark – preferably on his forehead, which is a sign of power as everyone knows.

He wouldn’t be forced to cower before this boy for fear of soiling his honour and shaming his family – whatever that means.

“What… What are you doing?” he stammers, as the newcomer calmly enters the room and closes the door behind him. The sudden lighting of the electric lamp makes Sherlock blink for a second.

“Looking for you, of course,” the boy replies. “Do you have any idea of the uproar your sudden disappearance has caused?”

Sherlock fights the temptation to let out a pitiful sound, but the expression on his face must give him away because the stranger starts laughing – a nice, light sound, which doesn’t sound mocking in the least. As if Sherlock has played a clever joke on everyone in the school rather than making another terrible mistake.

“It was very amusing to see how the Leech and all these other idiots were running around like hens which have lost their heads,” he adds.

Sherlock sighs, lowering his head. No doubt that his father has been warned and Sherlock already dreads what he should say – or do – in that regard.

“I should go,” he whispers.

“So soon?” the boy asks, a little frown on his face. “We have just met.”

He hasn’t come closer or made any menacing gesture, but Sherlock grows uneasy about him all the same. All the horror stories he heard snatches of rush back into his mind, cautioning him about dreadful men who wouldn’t hesitate to get their hands on him and…

_And then you’ll be lost._

Heart pumping fast in his chest, he takes in the boy in front of him – slim build, a little shorter than him. Maybe he can force his way through if the need arises.

But it’s risky. A word from an Alpha is enough to condemn an Omega for ever.

As if the other has read his mind, he backs away, raising his hands in surrender.

“Leave if you want, I won’t hold you back. I just thought…”

A quicksilver smile appears on his thin lips.

“… it would have been nice to talk to you.”

“Talk to me?” Sherlock repeats, a little puzzled. These words sound foreign to his ears, as if the boy has spoken another, unknown language. “You don’t even know who I am!”

It’s the stranger’s turn to look at him in stunned silence before throwing back his head and bursting once again into laughter. This time, the sound is grating on his nerves. Alpha or not, the boy has no right to mock him in such a nasty way. He is about to walk to the door and open it when he hears “Wait, please!”

The other flashes him a nice smile, which doesn’t completely soothe Sherlock’s nerves though.

“I’m sorry, really. I promise I wasn’t laughing at you.”

He shakes his head, his dark eyes still shining with amusement, and Sherlock takes the opportunity to examine him a bit more closely.

With his narrow face and pointy nose, the boy is not really handsome, but he’s got charm and manners nice enough to endear himself to others. At least, that’s what Sherlock assumes. His black, short hair is slicked back, emphasizing in a rather unsubtle way the Mark on his forehead. But after all, every young Alpha, Mycroft among them, do their hair the same way. It’s hardly something for which he’s going to blame this stranger.

The boy smiles at him in a knowing way and Sherlock realises he has been caught staring. He feels himself flushing and looks away. Behaving like one of those idiotic Omegas portrayed in the DreamSeries Sherlock is forced to watch – stupid women, always mooning over mushy drivel and yearning for their future husbands… He is mortified. A little bit ashamed as well.

“Don’t you know,” the boy says in this smooth voice of his, “how famous you are?”

A question which immediately rubs Sherlock the wrong way. He should go, leave this stranger behind him and forget everything which happened on this day.

But something in him, a rebellious part which, despite all his efforts, he never manages to silence, nudges him into facing this stranger, chin up and replying tersely, nearly spitting out the words

“Because I’m the first Omega male born on this island for more than a century?”

Words that have been engraved on his memory as soon as he heard them.

Sherlock clenches his jaw, refusing to let this boy see how much they affect him.

What he doesn’t expect is the soft answer “Partly, yes. But it doesn’t come down to this sole fact.”

Sherlock frowns.

“What do you mean? For what else will I be ‘famous’ according to you?”

Far from feeling insulted from Sherlock’s disbelief, the boy perches on the nearest bench, stretching out his legs before crossing them.

“Let me see… How about your resistance to the Dreams? Or the fact that no matter how many times you find yourself being scolded or punished, you never let them win you over?”

The boy’s gaze travels all over Sherlock’s body before lingering on his face.

“You’re not like all the others Omegas, who only think of hooking a husband before popping out a litter of insufferable little brats. Or, if they’re more ambitious, being at the head of a Coven.”

He rolled his eyes before resuming.

“You defy every expectation they might have as far as you are concerned.” He shrugs. “In a very real sense, you’re more free than anyone on this island will ever be.”

Sherlock is completely thunderstruck. He’s definitely staring this time at this stranger, who doesn’t seem much older than him, but just revealed himself to be a lot wiser.

To think of himself in these terms although… It’s messing up his mind.

“Who… Who are you? How do you know this?” he asks, encompassing in a large gesture everything which happened to him at school and of which he has been sure not to breathe a word outside.

The boy shakes his head again, a rogue smile creasing his lips.

“Oh Sherlock…”

Hearing his name in this stranger’s mouth sends a shiver down Sherlock’s spine.

“How do you think an Alpha like myself is authorised in an all-Omega school?”

Sherlock groans. How did he not see it before? It’s so obvious!

“You’re the director’s son.”

“Touché.”

He jumps down off the bench, dropping a clumsy curtsey which inexplicably seems charming to Sherlock.

“Young Alpha Moriarty at your service.” He stands up. “But I would prefer if you called me James.”

He holds out his hand to Sherlock – a gesture which seems innocent and friendly at first sight. But the mischievous glint in James’ dark gaze arouses Sherlock’s suspicions. However, he can’t help himself stretching out his arm and grasping James’ hand in his own.

“Sherlock,” he automatically says before feeling immediately like the dumbest person ever.

But James doesn’t react. Instead he examines him with such an intense look that Sherlock finds himself lowering his head. He swiftly pulls his hand free, invaded by a feeling he hasn’t known before – something unclear and intriguing at the same time, which is still reinforced by the sudden silence between them.

Sherlock is relieved when James says “Come along, then. It’s getting late and you better reveal yourself before they start searching every Alpha house in the neighbourhood…”

A sentence which stirs once again the ache in Sherlock’s chest.

“Don’t worry,” James goes on. “I’ll help you sorting out all this. Now that we can’t be seen together of course!”

He suddenly stops in front of the door, barring Sherlock’s path.

“But I’ll only do it on one condition,” he whispers.

“Which one?” Sherlock asks, trying in vain to look unconcerned about it.

Judging from James’ expression, he’s not fooled in the least.

“We will meet again, Sherlock Holmes.”

“But…”

He wants to ask “How?” but it’s the “Why?” which comes out first of his mouth.

James’ smile grows wider.

“Because I find you interesting. Fascinating even. And everyone around me is so duuuuuullll… You won’t believe how often I find myself bored to tears!”

A warm spark blooms in Sherlock’s chest when he hears these words. Nevertheless, he persists in asking

“But… You surely must have tons of friends at your school!”

During a moment James’ face seems to cloud over but it’s so brief Sherlock tells himself he dreamed the whole thing.

“I told you, they’re all morons…” His dark gaze turns sly. “And especially your brother, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Half-brother,” Sherlock can’t help but rectify.

“Yeah,” James whispers. “I can certainly see the difference between you two.”

And these words, more than anything else, bring a smile on Sherlock’s face.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“I’ll miss you, my dear Sherlock,” Mrs Hudson says, gently patting my cheek.

A gesture that unfortunately I have to bear too many times since I entered this room to appreciate it now, even if it comes from one of the few persons attending this ceremony that I truly like.

“Thank you,” I reply, softening my sullen voice with a smile. “I hope we’ll have the opportunity to meet again in a foreseeable future.”

Another Omega would have uttered some platitude but Mrs Hudson has never been one to sugar-coat the truth. Nevertheless my heart sinks when I see her raising a disbelieving eyebrow before answering

“You know it’s not very likely, isn’t it?”

I look away. I don’t like to be reminded that Victory Island is a heavily guarded place.

Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse Violet stealing an annoyed glance at us. She’s right to be wary of Mrs Hudson’s outspoken mind and even franker tongue. And she doesn’t like one bit that, not only I appreciate all these qualities in Mrs Hudson, but also that I make no secret of seeking her company during the Coven meetings.

However, as far as I know, Violet has never crossed the line in openly snubbing her. Maybe because Martha’s husband – a large, sinister-looking Alpha – is said to have the Chancellor’s ear. Or because Martha herself is too old for Violet to consider her as a serious threat to her leadership.

Whatever the cause may be, Violet only intervenes when Martha is too blunt for the delicate sensibilities of the other Coven’s members, gently rebuking her before selecting a new topic of conversation. That’s Omega politics for you - cleverly cowing those who might make trouble while smiling at them. All these subtle displays of power that Violet naturally achieves as a Covent’s Leader. And it generally works, because the backstabbing behind the scenes almost never gets out of hand or develops into open war. No doubt because at that stage the Coven’s Leader would have no choice but to inform the Watcher’s Office, which is also in charge of keeping a watchful eye on Omegas’ spotless behaviour. It would reflect very badly not only on the person who has been denounced but also on the denouncer herself.

As a Coven’s Leader you are expected to keep the others on a tight leash. Otherwise the Republic’s authorities might start casting doubts on your abilities as housekeeper and wife and you definitely don’t want that.

I pray the Father Above I would never be a Coven’s Leader, then.

Mrs Hudson visibly misinterprets my silence, because a kind smile blooms on her lips, creasing even more her wrinkled face.

“Oh, you shouldn’t listen to me, my dear, I’m afraid I’m becoming a dreadful bore in my old age!”

She waves aside my protests.

“I’m sure Victor would be very proud of showing off a bright, lovely young thing as yourself on his arm. I’m sure you will travel together, attending exciting events. Mark my words, my boy, he won’t let you stay cooped up in his family home…”

Her face turns sly and she winks at me.

“But first, I imagine he’ll lock you up in his bedroom and enjoy the Mating days with you!”

“Martha!” I cry out, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Oh hush, darling. In this regard I know what I’m talking about,” she retorts before lowering her voice to a whisper. “At least you won’t have to bear the pressure of having to fall pregnant as quick as possible.”

She lets out a lough sigh, as if remembering something truly unpleasant. As for myself, I’m astounded she chooses to express herself so freely during a Coven’s Farewell. I glimpse around, but no one seems to pay us any attention. It doesn’t mean someone didn’t overhear Martha though.

“Don’t worry, my little one,” she whispers with a reassuring smile, using the familiar nickname she bestowed on me when I first met her. She reaches out for my hand, squeezing it in hers once before releasing me.

“What I mean to say in my own foolish way is that I’m truly happy for you and your future Bond to Victor. The Trevor family is wealthy, well-connected and although I never had the opportunity to meet them in person, I’ve only heard good things about them. Trust me, that’s not something I get to say at every Coven’s Farewell!”

“I would imagine,” I reply, gulping down the rest of my tea and trying as always not to pull a wry face when the hot liquid cloys my mouth with its sickly sweetness.

Rather ironic that I can’t really stand the taste of Wish Tree tea and I’m getting Bonded to the Trevor family – the very one whose fortune comes from the Wish Tree’s production and marketing. I fervently hope that every meal in their house won’t be flavoured with this plant.

I let my mind drifting away while Martha strikes up a conversation with her neighbour, a yet-unclaimed Omega of the very large Sullivan brood. Their chat about one of the girl’s brothers, who has just been promoted captain after the last skirmish in the war going on the Continent, slowly fades in the background. I’m left with all the unresolved questions plaguing my mind these days.

* * *

 

Martha’s judgment about Victor and my future Bond to him is right – at least in theory. On paper, the Trevors look like everyone’s dream family. Since Ethel, Victor’s mother, discovered the proper way to extract the Wish Tree’s essence and to mix it into products likely to be consumed everyday – sweets, tea, flavoured water for little children or cigars for Alphas who are fond of tobacco – she and her Alpha are rolling in money. Of course, her husband took all the credit for this invention. An Omega – and a mother of seven to boot – has no business being known as the one who granted the Islanders the only way to access the Dream.

But I guess it doesn’t really matter for Ethel whether she’s publicly recognized for her genius or not. Even after all these years, they’re still reaping the benefits of her life-changing discovery and why shouldn’t they? Since the end of the war and the return of the Dream into the lives of the Republic’s inhabitants, the Wish Tree consumption has never been higher. It’s fortunate that the only island where it freely grows, named Victory Island since our success in the first war against the Natives, has been almost completely devoted to the cultivation of the plant.

Except for one plot of land – the Trevors’ home.

Everybody knows the story. At the end of the first war, as the king was overthrown and the Chancellor declared the founding of the Republic, one of his first public gestures was to restart the Wish Tree’s growth, since the Natives weren’t there anymore to prevent the Islanders from cultivating the lush dark green fields. He ensured the Trevors’ cooperation by showering them with titles and gifts – the most important of them was the unique privilege of building their family house on Victory Island.

Since then the Trevors’ name has been pronounced with great admiration and a little bit of awe.

And it will become my name as soon as the Bond is concluded.

Sherlock Trevor.

I repeat it silently, slowly tasting the syllables in my mind.

It reminds me of the way my father liked to try new wines, taking little sips while closing his eyes.

I ignore the voice screaming in my head that they don’t match.

That they never will.

That’s my future now.

Even if I don’t understand why the Bond Promise was so quickly established.

Even if, before my father announced my engagement over supper one day, I’ve never heard him mentioning the Trevors. I didn’t even know he was acquainted with them.

Even if I never really imagined myself being Bonded to someone.

_Oh Sherlock. You liar._

I feel myself flushing as James’ lovely face swims before my mind.

_When he told you you were to be engaged, if he had said “Moriarty” instead of “Trevor”, you would have been over the moon, wouldn’t you?_

I shake my head as my treacherous heart pulses faster.

James, my only friend – or so I thought.

Because a friend wouldn’t have left me so abruptly, vanishing without a word, a letter.

A Dream.

And during the time we spent together, he never revealed his feelings to me. He didn’t so much as hint at the possibility of a Promise between us.

So there is no point in bringing up this idea once again, I think, as I absentmindedly tear my napkin into shreds.

And especially not the day before my Bond.

Maybe Mrs Hudson is right.

Maybe Victor would turn out to be nice and interesting.

Maybe he would even take a little interest in me.

My father certainly thought so – why would he have concluded this Promise otherwise?

A fresh wave of grief flows once again in my heart.

I wish he was here. I wish I could still talk to him. Asking him all the questions I never dared to express, telling myself not to bother him with this nonsense.

If I had known…

I close my eyes, tears stinging my lids, threatening to spill over.

And suddenly I don’t care anymore for this ceremony, all these empty courtesies. There’s a hollow feeling inside me and I don’t know when – _if_ – it’ll disappear.

My hand is instinctively seeking the ring I stole. Since I can’t wear it on my finger for obvious reasons, I put it on a necklace, one of the few things coming from my mother I’ve been given. It is currently hidden under my undershirt and thank the Father Above my clothes have always been cut in such a way they hang a bit loose on me. A little trick to make me look a bit more strapping than I really am. In this case, it serves me well.

* * *

 

I’m about to walk around once more in the room and engage the Coven’s members in conversations which promise to be awkward – but an Omega in my position can’t really afford to appear less than sociable, especially today – when a loud bang puts an abrupt end on all the discussions going on. It comes from one of the living rooms on the ground floor if I’m not mistaken and my ears soon pick up the sound of hasty footsteps in the stairs.

Violet stands up, a frown on her lovely face. An annoyed look which soon turns to fright when we hear the Alpha guard stationed outside the room where the Coven’s farewell takes place, loudly talking with the intruder and trying to restrain him.

“Sir, you can’t…!”

“I’m in my house, I can do whatever I want!”

Mycroft’s voice.

I can’t believe it.

I glance around, seeing on the guests’ face the same shocked, stricken look that must appear on mine.

He wouldn’t dare…

The doors fly open and slam against the walls.

Shrill cries are soon ringing in my ears as I stand rooted to the spot, unable to understand why my younger brother has deemed wise to appear in the only place this evening where his status as an Alpha makes him unwanted.

“Mycroft!” Violet shouts, all poise forgotten as his son’s intrusion sends ripples of shock among the guests.

“Scandalous!”

“Shameful!”

“If I had ever thought such a thing possible…”

Mycroft, who abruptly stopped as soon as he entered the room, takes a step forward and the cause of this completely unseemly behaviour, even for my brother, becomes quite clear as a potent stench emanates from him, cruelly assaulting our noses.

Mycroft is drunk. Totally, utterly drunk.

With a look of complete disbelief, I observe him stumbling along as Violet, beside herself with anger but hiding it well, walks to him.

“Mycroft, you…”

He doesn’t leave her the opportunity to say anything else. Watching her with beady eyes, he roars “I don’t care!”

What comes next out of his mouth makes my legs turn to jelly.

“I want what’s mine! I want my father’s ring!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another flash-back in Sherlock's life :)
> 
> And on a more personal note, I'm off for two weeks. See you in September :)

“Shhhhhh! We’re going to get caught if you don’t shut up!”

In retaliation, Sherlock sticks out his tongue at his companion, who rolls his eyes before turning round and moving forward.

“Very mature. Now do keep up. It should be over there…”

Sherlock smothers his giggles and a heavy silence falls on both boys. Only the sound of their footsteps, slightly muffled by a thick layer of dust, echoes in the corridor.

Sherlock glances at James, who is now mumbling under his breath as he points his torch at every door. His friend can be a tad excessive when he takes the lead of their “explorations”, as he calls them, never hesitating to boss around Sherlock and telling him to be quiet, even if they haven’t yet encountered another living soul when they’re running away all over the school.

Deep down inside, he has to admit though that he finds all this caution and secrecy rather endearing and thrilling as well.

Sherlock can’t ignore the way his heart leaps in his chest when James manages to bail him out of class, never hesitating to make up a credible excuse. Of course, James himself never comes in class to get Sherlock – it would create a scandal of epic proportions to do so without speaking of the consequences for them both.

He prefers to convince timid first-year Omegas to do this work for him.

They knock on the class’ door and pipe, with an angelic look on their faces, “Omega Holmes’ presence is requested in the headmaster’s office” or “Matron Lump is asking for Omega Holmes”.

“But how do you persuade them?” Sherlock asked one time.

James shrugged and merely replied, with a flash of that rakish smile he likes to use, “I have my ways. Don’t worry about it.”

Sherlock didn’t insist.

 

* * *

 

Now it happens at least twice a week and nobody among the teachers and pupils alike seems to have cottoned on the subterfuge. Sherlock couldn’t be happier about it.

“I told you,” James said, “people see what they want to see. But I admit that your Dad’s tendency to use the school infirmary so that you can gulp down whatever foul liquid they’re hoping will cure you is helping us a great deal!”

Sherlock merely hummed in agreement, not willing to be reminded of his greatest failure. Despite all his efforts, he still can’t receive a Dream without screaming himself hoarse. The pain is vivid, bordering on excruciating, and Sherlock’s father slowly but surely comes at his wits’ end.

The last medicine Sherlock tried has done nothing but upset his stomach. He has barely managed to swallow the last dose when he has thrown up on the living room’s floor, during a Coven meeting. When his father has been informed, he has become enraged, scaring everyone off.

“You can’t stay like this!” he has roared. “Otherwise nobody would want you!”

Sherlock has remained silent, flushing with humiliation. Not only was he born male and Omega, but his mind was so defective it simply refused any contact with an Alpha.

He’s a complete disgrace and Sherlock thanks the Father Above every night that his path has crossed James’. The other boy has become the one bright light in Sherlock’s life. The only one to bring any relief to him with his sole presence.

James, who is always waiting for him in a darkened corner of the school, pulling him by the arm and whispering in his ear “Are you ready to follow me?”.

And Sherlock always answers “Yes”.

And they’re running off together. Of course, they have to stay within the establishment but to Sherlock’s utter amazement, the dreary, centuries-old building quickly turns into an ideal location for their scavenger hunts. James has the knack of finding out the most interesting, exciting places – from the crow’s nest on the rooftop, where they spent the whole afternoon observing Cohn Island and hounding the sea gulls, to a musty wine cellar crammed to the ceiling with dusty bottles (James insisted on opening one of them and tasting the acrid content. Sherlock has been dreadfully ill as a result).

 

* * *

 

Today’s exploration is different.

“I promise you a treat like none other!” James cried out as soon as Sherlock joined him in one of their usual spots. “Come on, come on!”

He was so thrilled he could barely wait for the other boy to catch up with him and Sherlock had to bite his lower lip not to laugh aloud at his friend’s excitement.

They used one of the various back stairs to reach the second floor, treading very carefully as they went past the classes where the lessons were being given to obedient pupils, unlike them. As they walked to the corridor’s end, they found the door locked. Sherlock was already afraid their adventure would be abruptly finished, but James, with a composure Sherlock certainly didn’t feel, pulled a bunch of keys from his trousers’ pocket.

“Where did you…”

“Shhh!” James broke off before giving him a wink and trying the keys one by one.

Sherlock huffed, glancing at his watch to check the time. His ears absentmindedly picked up snatches of a lecture through the nearest door. He winced when he recognized Miss Leech’s voice.  

“You should always be in touch with your Alpha’s needs and be willing to accommodate yourself to them. It’s one of your duties as Omega, besides keeping up your house, raising your children in a proper fashion and…”

He was fortunately spared the rest of this sentence when he heard a tiny click.

“Tada!” James said with a flourish before opening the door wide and making a deep bow to Sherlock. “Now, would you do me the pleasure of coming along with me?”

 

* * *

 

As James is now rummaging around the disused rooms, looking for the treasure whose existence he so readily affirmed, Sherlock can’t help but admire the other boy’s poise and confidence. He never seems to question anything about him or to doubt that in the end, he will get what he wants. An assurance which is bordering on arrogance on several occasions, a trait that Sherlock has already observed in his father.

And for the umpteenth time, he wonders what makes them so proud of themselves.

What makes all the Alphas he knows – his Dad, James, even young Mycroft – walk with this quiet aplomb, striding from one place to the next, standing upright, shoulders pulled back, arms swinging back and forth. Even when they sit, they seem to take up the whole room – legs wide open, head pulled back when they laugh at others’ joke, voice booming under the ceiling.

Sherlock has often asked himself what could give them so much confidence. Is it the Mark on their foreheads? It can’t be what they have in their pants – otherwise he would behave just like them and he’s not, he can’t even let himself imagine how it might turn out if he would stand, talk, walk, smile like an Alpha does.

It must be something else, something they swallowed at the same time than their mother’s milk. Or some secret Alphas are learning when they’re old enough, passing it afterwards on the younger ones when the time has come.

And Sherlock is burning, literally burning with curiosity at this thought. He glances at James, who doesn’t pay him the slightest attention, his mind focused on solving the problem that the hidden treasure constitutes.

James has to know it – the secret, this what-you-know-and-I-don’t.

The impulse to ask, to say what it’s on the tip of his tongue, to beg his friend to tell him until James caves in and blurts it out is so strong Sherlock is afraid it must be written all over his face in capital letters.

But, if James has noticed, he didn’t say anything about it and Sherlock doesn’t dare to push his luck. He knows he won’t stand his only friend laughing at him, mocking him with the same pity in his voice Sherlock hears in Violet’s tone when she tries to mother him.

The paralyzing fear is holding him back, preventing him from truly being himself, even in company with the only one human being who truly understands him.

A situation which is more and more grating on his nerves.

Why? Why can’t he just let it go and confide to James what’s on his mind? Why is it so hard?

“Look!”

Sherlock is startled out of his musings as James calls him over, a mischievous glint in his dark gaze.

“Come and see what I’ve found!” he says, impatiently beckoning Sherlock over. “I knew it was here!”

Sherlock readily walks to him, his friend’s enthusiasm winning him over.

Trying to relegate all his doubts and questions in a dark corner of his mind.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock is gaping at the painting.

Speaking of treasures, James has indeed found one.

A treasure which turns out to be as intriguing as dangerous.

He turns to James, who gives him the smuggest smile he has ever seen on his face.

“How…?”

“I’ll tell you only if it stays between us, right?”

“You know it will,” Sherlock replies, annoyed.

As if he would – could – tell anyone about this.

James glances at him, his smile shifting into something much more indecipherable. The only visible sign is a softening in his eyes, which is enough to make Sherlock’s stomach do a little flip.

“I just love getting under your skin,” James whispers.

He comes closer, easily within Sherlock’s reach. His hand nearly brushes against Sherlock’s and Sherlock shivers when he feels the other boy’s warm puffs of breath against his skin as he explains

“I heard my old man the other day talking with his friends. Of course, he doesn’t know I am getting used to spying on him when he withdraws with them to his “smoking room”, as he calls it. (He shakes his head.) He fancies himself as a big man shrouded in mystery because of his job, but in truth he’s easy to read. Anyway, he was boasting about all the old junk that has to hastily put in store here when the king’s head was chopped off…”

Sherlock gives a frown as he notices James casually describing what happened at the end of the first war against the Natives. The other boy doesn’t miss it and lets out a small laugh.

“You’re so easily shocked, it’s quite funny. You know, whichever title he might have given himself, this king was no better than you or me. In the end we’re all mortals with the same instincts and urges. Even our mighty Chancellor shits and fucks like everyone else.”

This time, Sherlock can’t hold back his horrified gasp and James bursts out laughing. It is a sound so genuine Sherlock can’t find in himself to be mad at him.

“Oh no, don’t pout!” James cries out. He suddenly leans in, putting his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders. For one truly terrifying, dizzying moment, Sherlock thinks the other boy means to hold him in his arms, but James doesn’t come closer and Sherlock is left with a mix of relief and dissatisfaction coursing through his veins.

“You’ve no idea how refreshing it is to talk with you… I told you you’re not like the others, didn’t I? So curious. So innocent.”

James looks at him.

Meeting his eyes.

Holding his gaze.

Sherlock feels his heart furiously beating in his chest.

He doesn’t know what is worse – the fact that he doesn’t want to step back, like any Omega in his situation would, or the way James is watching him, his dark gaze lingering on Sherlock’s mouth.

A flush is slowly but surely spreading across his face. He wants…

James suddenly shakes his head. Sherlock hears him saying something under his breath which awfully sounds like “Not yet”, but he isn’t sure. All the elation on which he was getting drunk just a second ago disappears and he is left with a tight, hard weight on his heart. Should he have done or say something?

Was the other boy expecting something from him?

James takes a deep breath before releasing him. With a growing dismay Sherlock sees him moving away and turning once again to the painting.

“So, what do you think about it?”

Sherlock’s cheeks are burning but he forces himself to look away from James and focus on the painting. That’s why they’re here, after all. And if James doesn’t feel like talking about what has just happened, Sherlock thinks, it’s fine.

It’s all fine. No need to worry.

He clears his throat, fighting to keep the incoming tears at bay.

“It’s… quite magnificent.”

* * *

 

The truth is he doesn’t know where to look at the picture.

From the very obvious crown carved in every corner of the frame, pointing out it used to be a royal property, to the thunderous black cloud taking up the upper side of the work and representing the Father Above, everything is outrageously over the top.

But what really catches the eye is the painting’s centrepiece.

Where Cohn, First of his Name, is ascending to heaven after his death.

Flying over, tall and proud.

And naked as the day he was born.

The flush which has barely left Sherlock’s face returns in full force.

It is clear that the artist has focused a great deal on Cohn’s body, giving painstaking attention to every detail, from the colour of his eyes to the play of his muscles under his skin.

And without overlooking the size of his cock.

Sherlock heavily swallows. Of course, he has already seen a penis at close range – even an erect one, since he has started to experience to his great displeasure nocturnal emissions. An incident which has left him vaguely disgusted with his body every time it occurred.

Instead of evacuating such revolting wetness, he savagely thought, his body would better find a way to accept the Dream!

But faced with Cohn’s masculinity, nestled in a thatch of dark curls, he finds himself unable to consider it repulsive or hideous.

He really can’t stop looking at it. It sends a flash of heat curling up in his belly, igniting all his senses and he should really stop right now if he doesn’t want to be…

“So are you impressed by the artist’s style, then?”

Sherlock crashes back to reality, blinking at James' thoughtful face. His voice does not contain any trace of amusement but there is a spark of mirth dancing in his eyes when he asks

"Convinced by his depiction of our glorious society?"

Flustered by his visceral reaction to Cohn's portrayal as well by his friend's words, Sherlock examines once again the painting. He immediately finds out what James is talking about – something that, blinded by the work’s masterpiece, he failed to notice.

At the bottom of the picture, below Cohn’s feet, two groups are observing the leader’s ascension.

On the left, their regular, delicate features lit up by the same halo surrounding Cohn, Sarah, his first wife, and his children are standing. They are staring at the Founding Father with blissed out looks on their faces. Sherlock feels drawn to them and at the same time is completely repulsed by this perfect brood – six Alphas, six Omegas with the Marks on their foreheads or around their wrists clearly visible.

His gaze jumps to the bottom right corner of the painting, where a handful of people are also watching Cohn. But, unlike Sarah and their children, they are cast aside in the shadows. They remain anonymous – blobs of brown fading into the dark background, hazy silhouettes rendered nearly insubstantial through the artist’s sloppy brushwork.

The message sent is obvious – the Unmarked people are not to be seen and even less talked about.

Sherlock knows that, as he knows their story.

* * *

 

At that time, there was no difference between Islanders and Natives, no Mark to distinguish them from another. They were worshipping the same deities, observing the same customs and going off to the same wars in order to conquer some rocky islet on which they have set their sights. When Cohn appeared, with this bright Mark on his forehead, they considered him as an aberration. His own mother wanted to drown him at birth. His father saved him, certainly intending for his son to have a lonely life.

However, Cohn refused this. He was convinced the Mark on his face was the sign of a great fate for him and he was right. Sherlock has been forced to go to Mass enough times to be able to repeat word for word the tales droned on by the priests of the Father Above. He used to imagine the scenes in his mind, in an attempt to stay awake during the ceremony.

How Cohn first heard the Father Above talking to him in a Dream, promising him a glorious destiny if Cohn would obey him;

How the Father Above taught him the principles in growing the Wish Tree plant as well as the foundations of the future society Cohn and his children will build;

How Cohn started preaching in the islands, convincing more and more people to believe in the one True God.

How, when he was persecuted by his enemies, he found refuge with a Native tribe;

“And there the Father Above told him to marry Eneraï, his second wife-to-be, even if she didn’t bear the Mark. Cohn obeyed and Eneraï gave him strong Alpha sons and wise Omega daughters…”

Like every Islander, Sherlock knows she also gave him Unmarked children. Children who were unable to hear the Father Above when they were consuming the Wish Tree plant, which broke Cohn’s heart. But because of his love for their mother and gratitude to their forefathers for having helped him, Cohn promised his Unmarked descendants they would always have a place at his table.

When he was younger, travelling in Dad’s carriage around the island, Sherlock used to observe with a great deal of interest and curiosity the Unmarked people on their way to work. Wondering how their closed minds, which would never receive any Dream, were operating.

Asking himself sometimes, when he was alone in his bed, if he wouldn’t be happier living as an Unmarked than as an Omega.

As if he has read him like an open book, James asks him in a soft voice

“Do you ever imagine, if you were born Unmarked, what your life would be?”

Sherlock bites his lip. In some circles, James would be whipped bloody for having said this. But this threat doesn’t seem to trouble him. Or rather, Sherlock thinks, he trusts me enough to bring up this topic.

A wave of affection wells up inside him, weakening his defences, leaving him vulnerable. Exposed.

Somebody to talk to. Somebody to confide in when everything becomes too hard.

Somebody to whom he could pour his heart out.

An Alpha to whom he could open the mental room he has started to build.

At this moment, he can nearly feel it, taste it – the possibility to receive a Dream without any pain, unlocking a door within his mind and welcoming James’ gentle touch.

A future which leaves him breathless with excitement and anticipation.

He turns to James, a shy smile on his lips.

“No. I can’t imagine a life like that.”

If he would have been braver, he would have said “I can’t imagine a life without you.”

James must have seen a hint of this on Sherlock’s face because he smiles back.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock doesn’t know it but at this moment, it’s the last time he sees the other boy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to work! I hope you all spent a lovely summer :)  
> As regards this story, I'm more determined than ever to write it down and I'll try to post at least one chapter per week.  
> Hope you enjoy it :)

“I want my father’s ring!”

Mycroft’s words are still echoing in my mind as I numbly follow Violet to her sewing room, far from the Coven’s scandalized faces and prying eyes. She pushes Mycroft inside and barely waits for me to enter before she shuts the door with a slam.

“Now would you like to explain to us why you behaved in such a way?”

I have never seen Violet looking so angry –back ramrod straight, tightened lips, her burning gaze focused on her son. I wouldn’t like to be in Mycroft’s stead right now. He must think along the same lines because he glances at me, as if hoping I would somehow help him out of this predicament, before looking at his mother again. He tries an awkward smile, looking more like a grimace.

“Mummy…”

“No. I want to know why you obviously intended to shame me in front of the whole Coven, without speaking of the disgrace you brought on your brother’s Farewell.”

He looks up at me and for a fleeting moment, I meet his grey gaze, glinting with a shrewd, malicious intent. My heart pounds faster in my chest. Does he know I have the ring he apparently covets? I can’t imagine he has been aware of my theft all along, pretending to have forgotten this part of his inheritance, just to denounce my crime right now.

It isn’t Mycroft’s style, I try to reassure myself. He doesn’t have a cunning bone in his body.

But, on the other hand, I would never have thought he would have been so bold – or so stupid – as to burst into a Coven’s ceremony, putting his mother on the spot. And all this for a ring he hasn’t spoken of since our father’s death.

It doesn’t make any sense!

Or is he really so completely drunk he has forgotten every rule governing the Omega ceremonies?

As if he has read my mind, Mycroft visibly grows pale. I hastily step back but the only thing which comes out of his mouth is a loud, revolting belch. I turn my head away, hiding my revulsion while Violet’s face hardens further. Before she can open his mouth to express her feelings though, Mycroft throws himself at her feet, bending his head and bawling in a ridiculous voice.

“I’m sorry, Mummy, very… very sorry! I don’t know why I did it, I was drinking with my friends, they were all speaking about their Alphas and I thought of Dad and…”

His already slurred speech dissolves into pitiful cries as he bows down to her, his prominent forehead grazing the floor.

I have never seen an Alpha humiliating himself like this and, even though it completely puts me off, I must admit this disgusting display also fascinates me. I’m shaken out of my reverie by the stern voice of my stepmother.

“Stand up right now, Mycroft! I didn’t bring you up to be such a cry baby!”

Despite her harsh words, I can see on her face a growing fondness warring with her earlier dissatisfaction. Of course she’s going to forgive him. It’s her only child after all, I think, jealousy spearing my soul.

As my brother meekly complies, I fight the temptation to grasp the ring hidden under my shirt. I’m not convinced by Mycroft’s supposed drunken remorse. I don’t know why he behaved in such a way, but I know one thing for sure – I’ll never give him the ring.

At least, not willingly.

“You have done a great deal of harm today, Mycroft,” Violet goes on in a softer tone. “You wronged me and by doing so, you caused damage to our family’s reputation. I know that young Alphas like yourself must have their flings and make mistakes, but this time, you’ve gone too far.”

My brother blanches once more, opening his mouth to probably try to justify himself, but Violet beats him to it.

“Before you apologize to me, there’s someone else to whom you must make amends.”

And she points me out to him. I stare at her, dumbfounded, while Mycroft looks between us, his mouth opened in an unappealing way.

“You’re not serious!” he gasps. “I won’t…”

I feel my cheeks flushing. No need for my brother to finish speaking, I can perfectly complete his sentence. It seems that in Mycroft’s eyes, I do not even deserve an apology. I look down, willing myself not to reveal how much this reaction hurts. It really shouldn’t, after all. I’m well aware that Mycroft always had very little regard for me – the freak Omega brother on behalf of which he gets teased and mocked at school. No wonder he’s trying so hard with his so-called friends. I’m sure he doesn’t know I’m fully aware of this situation, as if my feeble mind couldn’t grasp what is going on in his case.

But that’s the difference between him and me – much more important than the lack of any Mark on my forehead. Mycroft will never make any effort to put himself in my shoes. I wonder if this idea has ever crossed his mind.

Probably not, I think with bitterness.

Violet doesn’t reply. She simply stares at her son. An unflinching look, which, combined with her proud attitude, gets her point across – “I’m the master of this house and you will do as I say.” At this moment, I’m torn between admiring her for her boldness and resenting her for leaping so unexpectedly to my defence. I should be able to stand up for myself and not wait for someone else to do so. I bite the inside of my cheek as Mycroft, with great reluctance, turns to me, careful not to meet my gaze.

“I’m sorry, Omega Holmes.”

I can’t help flinching from this title. I know it’s the proper way to address me, but from someone who is related to me by birth, I would have liked something less… formal.

Wishful thinking. Mycroft will never call me “Sherlock” or even worse “Brother”. I’m a sentimental fool to hope for this. When will I ever learn?

“Very well,” Violet nods. “And speaking of the ring you seem to desire so much…”

She’s fishing for something in a hidden pocket of her robe and for one crazy moment, I fear she has robbed me when I wasn’t looking. Throwing caution to the winds, I instinctively press my hand against the front of my shirt, under which my father’s ring is hidden. It weights so little that in truth, I sometimes forget its presence. Although it is warmed up by my body heat, the contact of the metal on my skin still manages to give me a shiver when I touch it through the fabric.

I quickly let my hand drop when Violet stretches out her arm to her son, holding something tightly between her fingers.

“I intended to give it to you for your birthday next month, but since your patience seems to be exhausted…”

I pay no attention to her gently mocking voice or to Mycroft’s astonished expression. I only have eyes for the gold ring that my brother is now trying on his left hand.

It can’t be.

I realise I said it aloud when Violet turns her head in my direction, a frown on her face.

“Sherlock? Is something the matter?”

I must look like a fool, mouth open but soundless, like a fish out of the water, desperately trying to breathe. I can’t understand what just happened.

I want – I _need_ – to see this ring.

“I just wanted to congratulate my brother, that’s all.”

Mycroft’s face clouds over when he heard me calling him “brother” but Violet smiles at me.

“Of course.”

With this tacit permission I take a step forward. My legs feel like lead, I hear myself making all the right noises to Mycroft, who’s observing me with a glazed look. My gaze is focused on the ring he’s wearing.

Its appearance, its weight, even the seal of the Holmes family – it seems identical in every respect to the one I stole from my father’s hand.

I’m looking at it numbly until Violet clears her throat.

“Sherlock, I think you and I must go back to our guests. It’s not polite to keep them waiting…”

I absentmindedly nod, hearing what she’s not saying – all the humiliating apologies and smiles she’s going to give to the Coven’s members, hoping to smooth their ruffled feathers and to assert again her power as a Coven’s leader as well. I’m required to help her in this task.

How will I ever manage such a feat in my current state of mind, I don’t know.

 

* * *

 

Mycroft slips out of the sewing room, being ordered to “get some rest”; As for myself, I’m following close on Violet’s heels. I’m still reeling from the shock of this second ring – How could it even exist? – when she stops just before opening the door behind which the Coven is certainly gossiping about all of us.

She turns round, looks up at me.

“Sherlock…”

My heart jumps into my mouth. Did I give myself away earlier? Did she notice my hand clutching the necklace hidden under my shirt?

“Would you like to go with me tonight to the Temple?” Violet asks in a soft voice. “As it’s your last night here with us, I think that maybe you’d like some company. We would pray together and…”

What? What is she talking about? I don’t want prayers, I want answers!

“No!”

The answer instinctively rolls over my tongue, nipping the rest of Violet’s speech in the bud.

An awkward silence falls between us. My stepmom looks stricken before turning her head away.

“Very well. I shall see you in the morning then, before you leave us.”

And without giving me the time to compose my features, she opens the door.

 

* * *

 

“Farewell, my dear. I hope we’ll see each other again,” Mrs Hudson said.

I would like to answer her, but I find I have a lump in my throat. I simply nod, clasp her hand in mine. She seems to understand, gives me one last smile before going out of the room. She was the last guest, all the other Coven’s members having already left our house. After we went back in the room and despite Violet’s best efforts, nobody was really in the mood anymore to celebrate my future life as a New Husband. An auspicious start, I think.

I sigh, leaning my forehead against the cool window pane. In the inner courtyard below, Violet is getting ready for her weekly visit to the Temple. Why did she offer me to accompany her? She has never given me this choice before… Unless she didn’t intend for us to pray? Suddenly I’m cursing my own stupidity. What a fool I’ve been to turn her down! If I had accepted, I would have had a unique opportunity to finally ask her all the questions burning in my mind.

Questions about my father’s death and this unexpected ring…

I hear the horses’ hooves clattering on cobblestones, the burly Alpha guards shouting to each other. They’re on the verge of leaving the house.

Making up my mind, I open the window, screaming “Wait! Wait for me!”.

But it’s too late – the doors have been opened and I see the carriage leaving.

I have missed my chance.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but for some unfathomable reason, I didn't think of it until the chapter below.  
> Well, dear readers, I'm afraid this story will cover sensible topics and include scenes which could be trigger warning. I'd avoid unnecessary gory/dreary scenes - for instance no rape/non-con scene here - but be warned for the rest if you don't think you can bear it :)
> 
> As for the current chapter, it's a flashback and it concerns a correspondence between Daddy Holmes and... I'll let you discover it!  
> As always, I hope you enjoy it :)

_Fifteenth day of the Windy month_

_Year 8 of the Republic_

_From: Alpha MacClare_

_To: Alpha Holmes_

 

My dear Holmes,

 

I take the liberty of contacting you, hoping you will remember our days as fellow soldiers, fighting together against these pesky little Native bastards. Despite our poor living conditions… What a time it was! It reminds me of this amusing story, which happened last week – one of my servants found a mouse strangled in a trap in our cellar. She was screaming herself hoarse, terrified by the little corpse and refused to even touch it. To try to calm her down and to tease her a little bit as well, I described the gigantic rats which were regularly invading our camp back in the old days. Stupid impulse of mine, I must say – I’ve just finished my tale when the silly old biddy fainted! My wife was ranting at me afterwards for “disturbing our staff”. Barmy women, I tell you.

But I won’t waste your precious time anymore with the ramblings of an old man. This letter concerns a more important matter than memories of comradeship, even if they are dear to my heart.

I shall speak my mind plainly as the soldier I once was. You are certainly aware, as many members of our distinguished society, that my second wife and I were blessed with four beautiful children. Like every father I am very proud of my three robust Alphas and my lovely Omega, Annabel.

However, this happiness didn’t make me forget my first marriage and especially the only daughter it begot. Sofia is a sweet little thing, not a great beauty like her mother – even though she gave me a lot of grief during our union, I see myself forced to recognize this truth – but she’s lovely enough that any man who would ask me for her hand should feel very lucky indeed! I made sure she got a suitable education in order to become a good obedient wife. Now she is old enough to get Bonded, and it’s my duty to ensure to the best of my ability she spends many years of domestic bliss.

I shall not insult your intelligence by informing you that despite Sofia’s many qualities and her large dowry, her Unmarked status has put many eligible suitors off. The few times I’ve dared to approach Alphas likely to understand my predicament, in whom I had hoped to find a sympathetic ear, I’ve been mercilessly rebuffed.

Another man might then have surrendered under this bludgeoning of fate. As for myself though, I love taking up challenges. I never listened to those advising me to abandon Sofia in the slums of Cohn Island, “where she belongs” according to them. No child of mine would be left to her own devices. I have taken charge of her since her birth and I’m determined to find a suitable husband for her, even at the risk of overstepping our society’s boundaries in doing so.

May I be so bold as to assume you’re thinking along the same lines as regards the fate of your Omega son, Sherlock?

You see, I have pondered long enough on this and I have reached the conclusion you probably imagine at this stage in my letter – let them get married to each other.

I know that many of our peers will be shocked by this Bond and you and I will doubtlessly endure weeks of disapproving remarks as well as the condemnation of the most conservative members of our society.

But this future dismissal must not make us forget what is at stake for your Sherlock and my Sofia – a peaceful union, which might be blessed with children. Besides, I have already appealed to his Holiness, our beloved Founding Father’s High Priest, on this matter and although he wasn’t very enthusiastic about it, he didn’t explicitly forbid it.

Now that I have clearly expressed my intentions, it only remains for me to ask you – Will you give your consent to this project? Will you stand by my side on the Temple’s threshold and see our two families be united by blood, thus celebrating the impending New Bride Season?

Whatever your final word may be in this regard, let me assure you, my dear Alpha Holmes, that I will always hold you in highest regard.

 

Yours faithfully,

 

Lewis MacClare

* * *

 

 

_Twenty-fourth day of the Windy month_

_Year 8 of the Republic_

_From: Alpha Holmes_

_To: Alpha MacClare_

 

Lewis,

 

I honestly cannot fathom out the reason for which you thought sending me such a letter constituted a wise move on your part. Had you sent me a Dream mentioning the same proposal, I wouldn’t have replied, sparing you the unavoidable embarrassment that you brought upon yourself with your foolish offer. But since you saw fit to put it down in writing – did you think it would favourably impress me? – I feel no qualms about replying to you in the way your letter deserves.

I remember very well indeed our days as “fellow soldiers”, as you said. Let me put you straight about this – we were never mates, you and I. You were a simple private, I was your captain. I gave you orders that you carried out to the best of your ability, which meant that usually someone more competent had to go all over your work again. This lack of good sense might have been overlooked if you haven’t revealed yourself to be boisterous as well as impudent.

I see now that you haven’t lost an ounce of these nefarious qualities. And far from being aware of them and trying by all manners of means to curb your instincts, you dared to assume not only that we think alike as regards the future of our children, but also that I should be glad to rub shoulders with you by accepting your bastard under my roof.

What a truly despicable prospect.

Instead of bothering distinguished persons like his Holiness – I’m appalled at your behaviour in this regard – with your ridiculous ideas, you would have done better asking him to remind you of what Cohn, First of His Name, taught us about the way things should be in our world.

There’s a reason for which Alphas like you – although in my opinion, you don’t deserve it – and I have been born with bright Marks on our forehead.

There’s a reason for which Omegas are not able to send Dreams.

There’s a reason for which we do not get our bloodlines polluted by the tainted fluid running through the veins of Unmarked scum.

Our Father Above, in his infinite wisdom, has decided to share these truths with us. I would not be the man who turns his back on everything his ancestors have observed and revered since Cohn, may his Name be thrice blessed, taught them. I would not lead my family astray.

All my life I’ve made a point of observing these rules and I have no doubt my sons will do the same.

You asked for my answer? There it is – do not dare to contact me again on any pretext, whether by mail or Dream. If you do, be assured that I know all the rights words to drop in the competent ears. You may find yourself living the rest of your days under lock and key at Stonewall in no time at all.

Think about it.

Before ending this letter and taking the time to consider a very proper and worthwhile offer this time for Sherlock’s Bond, let me give you a word of advice.

Do repent of your faults and sacrilegious thoughts before it’s too late.

 

Alpha Holmes

* * *

 

 

_Twenty-eighth day of the Windy month_

_Year 8 of the Republic_

_From: Alpha MacClare_

_To: Alpha Holmes_

 

I hope you have taken great pleasure in humiliating me in your reply, because it’s my turn now and let me tell you, I do not care at all for any threat you might make against me. I’m not impressed by your “holier than thou” attitude. In fact, I know that, behind this sanctimonious front, you’re keeping some nasty secrets. I may not have been a very good soldier back then but neither was I a dirty lickspittle always kneeling down to the officers. You used to like that, didn’t you, Holmes? Tell me, Mister I-won’t-lead-someone-astray – did they give your first taste or was it you who offered? 

* * *

 

 

_Excerpt of the DreamNews broadcasted on fourth day of the Sprouting month_

 

“… the prestigious MacClare mansion, which used to be admired by everyone strolling along the Bryant bank, burned down last night. According to the investigators’ first findings, it seemed that fire broke out in the cellar, quickly spreading to the upper floors.

“When we got to the house, it was a blazing inferno,” Alpha Wilder, captain of the fire department, told our team. “We could hear the MacClare family crying for help, they were all trapped inside, it was a nightmare.”

Unfortunately, none among the MacClares survived.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone up for a little bit of action? *angelic smile*

I made a terrible mistake.

I’m nervously pacing up and down the corridor leading to my room. I tried before to calm down, lying on my bed, determined to stay awake until Violet returns from her visit to the Temple. But it proved impossible. An irrepressible energy is buzzing through my whole body,  nearly pushing me over the edge.

I want to scream until all the questions, which are exponentially increasing since I saw the ring on Mycroft’s finger a few hours ago, stop circling around in my mind, like foolish dogs trying to catch their tails.

I want to wake up my brother, who at this hour is probably nursing his hangover, and shake him, telling him I don’t care about his Alpha status or the Republic laws, he has no right to wear our father’s ring – if this is indeed _his_ ring.

But more than anything I want to go out of this house, running through Cohn Island’s maze of broad avenues and tortuous alleys until I reach the Temple.

I can’t, of course. It’ll be sheer madness to act in such a manner, without speaking of the danger I’ll put myself in. A young, yet unclaimed Omega alone in the streets at night… The very thing I’ve been warned against since I was a child. I still remember the successive tellings-off delivered by the nurses and governesses looking after me.

“You should never go outside on your own!”

“But why?”

“Stop asking questions! You’re an Omega and Omegas must always be accompanied.”

It left such an imprint on my memory that I became terrified of being alone, especially at night-time. I used to bury myself beneath the covers, imagining all kinds of monsters lurking in the dark, waiting for me to come to my room’s only window to snatch me away. A child’s anguish which was only reinforced when war was declared on the Natives and planes suddenly filled the sky, bombing our city.

The first time it occurred I wept such tears of distress, convinced somehow that the roaring beasts outside would catch me and kill me, that I nearly made myself sick. Nothing that Violet or the nanny appointed to take care of me at this time did – my father has already been enrolled – could calm me down.

In the end, I found the solution by myself.

I built a safe place in my mind. Far away from the war or this house I wasn’t allowed to leave. Something that even Mycroft’s grasping fingers couldn’t touch.

A refuge that only belonged to me.

I called it the Room. It was a fascinating process to build it, brick by brick, to fit it out according to my tastes. I put in it everything I hold dear – my favourite toys, quotes I found in my father’s books and which appealed to me for some reason.

Later, it was the memories of myself running away with James all over the school.

And the landscape I was looking at through the Room’s wall-wide window changed constantly, fitting my moods – a stormy sea or gentle hills covered with fruit trees and on one memorable occasion, Mycroft tied to a wooden post while red ants were crawling all over him. 

The most important thing though was that in my Room, I could be whoever I liked. For instance, when old tales of piracy – we are Islanders, after all – caught my fancy, I became the dreaded Blackbeard, striking terror into the mightiest Alphas’ heart.

I could even cut my hair, leaving only a slight dark fuzz on my head rather than these long and annoying curls, which always got tangled during the night. It was a nightmare combing them out, even if Violet seemed to like this task, one of the few for which she dismissed the nurse and of which she took charge herself.

“Look at yourself, Sherlock,” she said, sitting me in front of the mirror. “What do you see?”

What was I supposed to see, I still don’t know. In truth all I could – and still can – notice was my pale skin, so prone to get sunburnt when the springtime sun was shining in the school’s playground, or my skinny body, a mess of bony and raw angles, far from the soft curves Alphas looked for when choosing their future wife.

And my face didn’t help either – eyes whose gaze was considered “unsettling” by Miss Leech, prominent cheekbones which were setting off my hollow cheeks. Add to this my large mouth and the picture was complete.

No matter how many times I go scolded for pursing my lips whenever I was forced to look at my reflection in the mirror, I never succeeded in getting rid of this habit. As if, with this small gesture, it could get any better.

Therefore I remained silent when Violet asked me this question while delicately combing these curls I disliked. I didn’t even look for an answer. I much preferred escaping from this reality I didn’t want and finding refuge in my Room. Noisily playing, screaming, singing at the top of my lungs – all the things I was forbidden to do.

And while it wasn’t enough to block Violet’s whisper in my ear – “Beauty is a weapon, Sherlock. You’ll understand that later” – I didn’t care about it so much when I was in my own world.

* * *

 

A door opening with a creak echoes in the corridor, breaking the silence I was cocooned in, a harsh contrast to the quick jumble of my thoughts. I force myself to stand still, instinctively paying attention to this noise. I wonder who made it. At this hour, all our servants are in their quarters or down in the kitchen. They would have no reason to go up here, unless Mycroft has called for them and...

Heavy footsteps on the landing first, then in the stairs.

I will recognize this pace anytime.

Mycroft seems to have regained some strength – enough at least for picking up his night off with his friends. I groan with jealousy. What wouldn’t I give for enjoying this kind of freedom! Breathing in the chill night air, going wherever I want, not caring one whit about the possibility of my path crossing an Alpha’s. I wonder if Victor will let me…

I suddenly hear a loud sneeze, immediately followed by a “Shhh!” almost as loud. They seem to come from the grand hall on the ground floor, the sound reverberating in the staircase. I stop dead in my tracks. What is going on? Mycroft wouldn’t have dared to bring his friends over, would he? Especially when Violet isn’t here. Regardless of her Omega status, she has been declared ruler of this family and asking someone to her house without her being aware of this would be considered as a grave offence.

Mycroft can be a fool but he isn’t stupid enough to have overlooked this fact.

I try to immerse myself once again in my thoughts, even if they put me under stress, but to no avail. Being aware that Alpha strangers have literally entered the house makes me fell ill at ease. I never found myself alone among a group of Alphas. Well, not exactly true, I mused. I took that risk with James but it was different. I give a great sigh. To think that tomorrow, at this hour, I would be alone with my husband, getting ready for the first of our Mating Nights… It would be a whole other issue than a handful of Mycroft’s friends in the house!

A thought which doesn’t help me in the slightest in my present state of mind. What I need is a distraction while waiting for Violet’s return.

And Mycroft hast just unwittingly given me the best opportunity to do so.

* * *

 

Leading a nearly cloistered life has a few perks.

Such as knowing like the back of my hand the best nooks and crannies from which you can see everything without being noticed. After tiptoeing downstairs, I hear enough snatches of the conversation going on between Mycroft and his friends to surmise they’re now in the living room. Perfect. I hug the walls until I can slip into a forgotten alcove carved in the wall separating the living room from the grand hall. A small statue of the Pregnant Lady, that my mother acquired when I was growing in her belly, used to be put on a pedestal there, but a clumsy maid stumbled against it a few years ago, knocking it down and breaking it irreparably. Nobody bothered to replace it and just before he fell ill, my father bought a huge tapestry depicting the Great Purge among the Royalists after the Chancellor won the war, covering the wall from top to bottom. It nearly completely conceals the place in which I find myself now, heart pounding in my chest, sweat breaking out on my brow. I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm me down. In spite of the fact that I feel safe here and that the light from the chandelier is casting a heavy shadow on my refuge, blood is roaring so strongly in my ears that it drowns out the voices echoing on the other side of the tapestry.

After a while though it quietens down. Just in time for me to hear Mycroft’s friends bursting out “Mycroft, you rotten dog! You finally got it!” “You did it, mate, congratulations!”

My curiosity prevails and gives me enough strength to push back slightly the tapestry’s edge. I take care not to create a ripple through the heavy fabric, which would give right away my presence, although I don’t think that Mycroft and his “mates” in their present state would be able to notice it.

There are four of them and they all tried their best to correspond to the Alpha perfect example like the DreamSeries portrayed – devastating good looks, bulging muscles under their posh suits, not a hair out of place.

But only one of them manages it. The only one who doesn’t loudly congratulate Mycroft who is showing off his newly acquired ring – such a ghastly sight, really – slapping him on his back.

He’s taller than my half-brother, impatiently tapping the floorboards with the silver-tipped end of his stick and when he saw one of his friends stumbling along towards the liquor cabinet, he immediately barks in a steely voice

“One more drop in your useless throat, Carter, and I throw you out, understood?”

“But, Ronald…” Carter whines while the others, who don’t look as inebriated as him, have enough sense to shut up and listen.

Ronald ignores him and standing up even straighter if it was possible, looks at them all with a dark gaze, which reminds me of James’. I immediately dismiss this idea from my mind.

“Gentlemen, we are gathered in this house to celebrate Mycroft’s newly acquired ring, that he finally earned after a long struggle…”

He’s openly smirking at my brother, like he knew exactly what happened a few hours earlier, and an unattractive flush is spreading across Mycroft’s face.

“But let’s not forget we are not here solely to entertain ourselves. We have been chosen to carry out an important task and I do intend to fulfil it successfully. Do we agree to this, my friends?”

An enthusiastic chorus of “Yes!” and “Of course!” quickly echoes in the room. I frown, trying to guess what this ‘important task’ is. Does Ronald refer to my father’s ring? Or something else? A shiver runs down my spine at this idea.

“Mycroft, I do congratulate you on having ensured that the Coven hens did not delay us by overstaying their welcome here… I’m sure you made a very convincing drunkard!” Ronald says, making a mocking bow to my brother.

His friends burst out laughing.

“I would have loved to see their faces when you interrupted their little meeting!”

“I’m sure some of them shrieked abuse at you, didn’t they?”

I absentmindedly notice Mycroft’s strained smile – he’s obviously ill at ease while trying not to show it. As for myself, I’m carefully listening, struggling to understand which act my brother seemed to have put on.

If Ronald and his mates can be believed, Mycroft wasn’t drunk. He did burst in on my Coven’s farewell intentionally, but for which purpose? Why did he take such a risk, creating a scandal which could imply his mother’s fall into disgrace?

As if he could hear me, the little group’s leader goes on

“Now that we have been given free rein, let’s get on with the final stage of our plan!”

I glimpse a greedy glint in his gaze, which finds itself soon enough reflected in his friends’ eyes. Ronald turns once again to Mycroft, who is guiltily shuffling his feet, reminding me of his attitude when he was a child trying to deny he has eaten the last raspberry tart.

“Are you sure that our little parcel is here?”

What?

Mycroft nods. When he finally speaks, it’s a whisper but it’s loud enough for me to hear it.

“Yes. He’s in his room.”

“Very well done, Mycroft. Our employer would have been most displeased if we have found out that little Sherlock has flown away.”

My heart gives a distressful lurch as I stand frozen, unable to grasp what I just heard.

I’m staring at Mycroft and I can’t believe he could have done such a thing.

Tears suddenly spring to my eyes, I wipe them away with a furious hand.

“Let’s pick him up!” Ronald cries out to his friends, who cheer and dart towards the stairs. “Remember – you may play with him a little, but no more than that. He belongs to someone else.”

He is about to follow his mates when Mycroft holds him back by his sleeve.

“Ronald…”

“What? Don’t tell me you get cold feet now!”

Mycroft shakes his head.

“No, of course not! But… You promise me no one will ever know…?”

A nasty smile creases Ronald’s lips.

“Don’t worry, Myc. As soon as our employer gets what he wants, no one will ever hear again of your little freak of a brother.”

He roughly thumps Mycroft on his shoulder.

“Come on, it’s getting late! We must act quickly!”

They’re dashing after their friends, who are already tramping in upstairs.

An icy wave invades my soul. The very stuff of my nightmares has come true. It’s over. I’ll never see daylight again and…

_No!_

Someone is screaming in my head.

A little boy.

He’s alone, he’s terrified but he’s still alive and kicking and he does not want to go down on bended knee before Mycroft or anyone else.

_Flee! Don’t stay there! You’ll be found out!_

As if his voice has given me the strength I needed to act, I find myself springing out of my hiding place before running at top speed to the door.

Chill night air welcomes me, making me shiver, but I don’t have time for being afraid.

I take a deep breath before rushing outside.

Leaping headfirst into the cavernous maw of Cohn Island.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback - it's the last one - but told from Mycroft's POV this time.  
> Thank you to all for your comments and your support, I couldn't go on without you <3 <3 <3

You’re five and you want to play.

But it’s no fun playing alone.

All the grown-ups have declined your mute proposal when you offered your favourite red ball to them.

“Not now, darling, Mummy has work to do…”

“I can’t, Mister Mycroft. Why don’t you sit down and read a nice book, eh?”

Books are so boring!

You sigh, frustrated. If only Mummy or Nurse Annie could take you to the playground! It’s such a nice place with sandboxes, plenty of coloured mazes of rope ladders and the biggest swings you have ever seen. Much nicer than the one Daddy put up in the garden, that’s for sure.

And down there, you won’t be alone.

At first seeing the other children – they were so many! – frightened you a little. You remained stuck behind Mummy, trying to overcome your fear.

“What are you waiting for, Mycroft? Come on, don’t be so shy!”

And you obeyed, slowly walking to the first slide which attracted a large group of boys. You were terrified, biting your wobbling lower lip, but no one attacked you or even said nasty things. Five minutes later, you were rushing with your new friends to the monkey bars, playing at Islanders and Natives, screaming at the top of your lungs to scare the life out of your enemies.

Of course you won.

It was the best time of your life.

And when Mummy asked you “Would you like to return there tomorrow?” your “Yes, please!” could be heard from the other side of the river.

But today it’s raining. The trip to the playground has cancelled and you’re bored silly. You’re racking your brains, looking for another person who might be tempted into becoming a playmate – asking Daddy, who is locked in his study, is out of question – when Sherlock comes in through the door. You stand still, staring at him. You wonder why you didn’t think of your “big brother” – although he’s not taller than you.

Maybe because you find him weird.

It’s not only because of the lack of any Mark on his forehead, but also because everyone’s saying so. From Mummy’s “Sherlock is not like you. You’ll understand when you’re older” to Nurse Annie shrieking when she found you holding one of Sherlock’s dolls mistakenly left in your stash of toys, everything you’ve heard until now conspires to let you think Big Brother isn’t someone you want to play with.

Sherlock is staring at you with these piercing eyes, so very different from your own, and you’re a little afraid, but there’s really no one else around and it’s so annoying being on your own…

Your voice shakes a little when you ask him “Play with me?”.

Sherlock doesn’t reply right away – he glances at you before examining the red ball you’re clutching in your hands.

“It was mine before,” he said.

The fear of having one of your favourite toys being taken away from you swells in your whole body.

“You can’t have it, it belongs to me!” you hotly retort.

“I know that,” Sherlock replies, as serious as Daddy when he’s speaking about the Father Above. A shy smile suddenly blooms on his lips. “But, if you still want to play… we may share it.”

Oh.

You don’t have to think much about it.

“I would like that.”

Half an hour later you’re both laughing so hard, lost in a game of dodgeball, that Nurse Annie comes in, disturbed by the noise. At first she doesn’t say anything, but you don’t miss her hard look directed first at you, then at your brother. Suddenly you’re reminded of everything you’ve been told about Sherlock.

About Omegas.

“Mycroft, your mother is asking for you,” she says in a tone which doesn’t allow any contradiction.

You glance at Sherlock, but he has lowered his head and you can’t see his face.

After a while, Nurse Annie impatiently clicks her tongue and you hasten to obey.

You follow her along the corridor, shuffling your feet.

Wondering if you will ever play again with Big Brother.

* * *

 

You’re twelve and all your attention is focused on what’s going on in the school grounds.

You still remember Dad’s speech one week ago, just before your first day at the Alpha Academy. He took you aside in his study. He made you sit down in the chair usually saved for important guests and peered at you intently without saying a word, until you were fighting the temptation to squirm uncomfortably in your seat.

“You’re not a child anymore, Mycroft,” he finally told you in a solemn voice. “Besides, you’re my only Alpha descendant, therefore from that moment, I’ll expect you to behave like an honourable man should. Is that clear?”

You were already sweating in your brand new suit, wondering what exactly “behaving like a man” implied. But you knew better than to voice any of the doubts rattling around in your head, so you meekly replied “Yes, Father.”

“I don’t hear you. What did you say?”

“Yes, Father,” you repeated in a stronger tone.

“Good. Now pay attention (He leaned towards you, his gaze never leaving your face.) You have a friendly nature, you’ll doubtlessly make new friends at the Academy. However, it’s important you get to know the right persons. Influential people, who could later support you in your career, pulling the strings when it’s necessary and intervening if you’re facing difficulties. Do you understand, Mycroft?”

“Yes, but…”

You bit your lip, dithering until Dad raised an eyebrow.

“How will I recognize them?” you blurted out.

Dad slowly smiled at you.

“Don’t worry, my son. You’ll notice the right sort of people to get acquainted with. Just use your brain, Mycroft, and observe.”

Dad was right, you know it now. It didn’t take you more than half a day to spot who were the leaders among the crowd of first-year pupils – Ronald Wake, Sebastian Moran and James Moriarty. Those three were already surrounded with a large following of lickspittles and lapdogs. Not at all the position you were striving for. You aspired to be noticed, not to be mistaken with another errand boy.

So you showed off a little, but not too much. Standing apart but not in such a way you might be considered as one of the few outcasts of your class.

And when, after two months of this game, you sense Moriarty’s dark gaze on you, your heart skips a beat. Your palms become sweaty as you observe out of the corner of your eye James whispering a word in Moran’s ear before walking to you. Finally, you have the time to think before you hear “I don’t think we have met before.”

When you turn to him, he’s already holding out his hand, an earnest smile blooming on his thin lips. You shake his hand, silently begging the Father Above that your voice doesn’t reveal how much you are thrilled by this mark of acceptance in front of the whole school.

“I don’t think so. Mycroft Holmes.”

“James Moriarty. Nice to meet you, Mycroft. Care for a walk?”

And so it begins. You never mention any name during the family meals, but you take great delight in saying “My friends” and getting a proud look of your Dad in return.

You’re a man now. Behaving like an Alpha should do. And it doesn’t matter if one of your new mates sometimes bore you stupid with his silly tales, it’s a small price to pay for being accepted by the leaders of your class.

Or rather the leader.

Because, if Sebastian and Ronald both come from richer and more upper-class families than James’, his dazzling wit and sharp sense of humour are no match for them. Even if his slight stature and unaffected air don’t seem very impressive at first glance, you’re perfectly aware that it would be a great mistake to underestimate him. One of the older boys did, spouting derisive comments about James’ Dad, the head of the Omega school. James didn’t reply. Two weeks later, the boy, who came from one of the most remote islands and therefore was one of the Academy’s boarders, woke up screaming. He has been bitten by a venomous spider which had seemingly found refuge under his pillow. He was directly admitted to Cohn Island’s hospital and didn’t come back afterwards.

So, when one day, James tells you “I’ve heard curious things about your brother”, you’re left speechless. Sherlock’s very existence is your weakness. Having for relative a male Omega who is rumoured to be mad or at the very least retarded since he’s unable to receive a Dream without fainting is the chink in your armour, the only indelible stain on your yet spotless record. Even when James starts laughing – “Don’t make such a face, Myc, you look like you’re going to be sick!” – you don’t drop your guard.

“What do you want to know?”

James shrugs, his indifferent façade betrayed by the interested glint in his eyes.

“Anything you want to tell me. After all, we’re friends and friends confide in each other, right?”

Friends.

A word which warms your heart.

 

Even when much later, James abruptly disappears, his father resigning his post before the whole Moriarty family leaves the island, when mentioning his name is met with hard glares and absolute silence, you don’t forget it.

* * *

 

You’re seventeen and you’re completely lost.

The pain of losing your father is the icing on an already very bitter cake. Your reasonably well-lined purse has long been sucked dry by the gambling club you got addicted to, your debts amounting to an increasingly alarming sum and not even the sickly sweet taste of Wish Tree cigars you’re chain-smoking can let you forget that.

Without speaking of the friends who were supposed to help you whenever you’re going through a sticky patch and who are conspicuous by their absence.

You just resign yourself to leave your father’s ring as a security to your creditors – or at least promising yourself to do so as soon as you’ll have it – when an old acquaintance sends you a Dream. Ronald seems to be perfectly aware of your problems and you’re left speechless when he asks you “I might have a proposal for you. It’s called how to kill two birds with a stone. Care to hear all about it?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note - before you start screaming at me at the end of this chapter, please do remember I did promise you a happy johnlocky ending, okay? ;)  
> Nice Sunday to you all!

I’m running.

Echoes of my quick footsteps on the road are bouncing back and again on the stone and brick facades of the houses on either side of the street.

I’m running like I have never run before. Like I’ve never been allowed to.

It’s terrifying – What if someone notices me? – and completely exhilarating at the same time.

In the darkness, only disturbed by the haloes of creamy light emanating from the street lamps, I seem to have entered a whole other world than the one I’ve always known. Around me, the few windows still lit either seem to beckon me or look like the many eyes of the Watcher’s Office, ready to denounce me.

And I’m still running. Breath wheezing in my throat, liquid fire running in my veins. I don’t care. I go faster, my feet slipping on the cobblestones as I’m rushing in a side alley, taking a narrow turn. I lean on a wall just in time to stop myself from falling. Getting a bit of my breath back during a few precious seconds before setting off again.

Good thing I paid attention during all those years to the routes the family carriage takes through the island to go to the Temple; Otherwise I would be lost in the maze of lanes and alleyways spreading between the posh neighbourhood where I live, largely silent at this hour and the livelier avenues leading to Cohn Island’s heart – the Bridge of Sighs spanning the river.

I have to cross it in order to get to the Temple on the other bank.

I imagine myself suddenly growing powerful wings and flapping them until I rise in the air, flying over the island like some gigantic – and rather awkward – seagull. Of course it’s completely laughable to picture such a scene but the pang of longing in my heart tells another story.

The truth is, despite the hazardous situation I’ve been forced to put myself in when I fled my house, I’ve never felt more free than right at this moment.

If only I could run forever in a never-ending night.

* * *

 

My feverish enthusiasm abates a little as I come closer to the Bryant bank. I beat a hasty retreat in the shadows when I notice two policemen strolling along the large avenue. Of course, they would be patrolling in what has become one of the island’s hot spots. During the day, Omegas are crowding round the many shops gathered there, attracting fashionable customers with the tantalizing displays in their windows. I know Violet likes to purchase her tailor-made clothes from the store located just in front of me on the other side of the street, which is currently proudly exhibiting in its window a pregnancy dress whose fabric is stretched over the huge round belly of the headless dummy wearing it. I have also heard rumours about what’s going on in this area during the night. Girls at school liked to gossip about their fathers’ or brothers’ activities after sunset, gaining membership of the clubs which have sprung up like mushrooms along the bank. My naïve curiosity liked to imagine what could happen behind these closed doors guarded by burly Alphas until I learned the truth – scantily clad Unmarked women lying on soft beds, offering their bodies and encouraging their clients to drink as much as they want while others prefer to sit around gaming tables, heavily betting.

A lucrative business managed by and offered to rich Alphas only.

I wonder if my future husband has ever set foot in one of those establishments before calling myself a fool. Of course, he had. Which honourable Alpha will get into his Mating bed without having acquired before some experience in order to fulfil his bride’s expectations? When I was forced to watch DreamSeries, finding refuge in my Room, which helped me enduring this revolting invasion of my mind, this kind of behaviour was strongly hinted at whenever romance was budding.

It followed the usual pattern with virgin unclaimed Omegas swooning over the muscled arms of the first Alpha rogue to cross their path, being ruthlessly seduced and bedded, their cries of ecstasy being drowned by their companion’s husky voice groaning his pleasure. It always ended with a happily ever after – the man decides to make amends and to settle down, properly asking for the seduced woman’s hand to her father, who, after bemoaning the fact that his daughter has been Claimed without being offered to get Bonded, promptly wipes his eyes and thanks his saviour.

I used to wonder where I would fit in this scenario. I couldn’t be the strong and charming Alpha but I couldn’t either imagine myself as the curvy gullible Omega.

So what could I be? The spiteful jealous old maid who tried her best to drive the lovers apart? The sassy best friend, who ran off with a swindler and came back crying for help to her friend? Or the unwanted fat/ugly/ageing girl, always sitting in the background whenever she appeared in the Dream? It didn’t really matter since all of them were cast away at the end, the Dreamer being focused on the bride’s radiant face.

In truth I had no other choice than to become the perfect Omega and to smother my doubts. To forget what was between my legs or the fact that I had a male body and to hope that an Alpha would want me enough to claim me despite all this.

The distant wailing of a siren startles me enough to bring me back to reality. I can’t stay here unless I definitely want to be found out. On the other hand, I can’t really hope to run away like I did before without attracting here and now unwanted attention, be it from the patrolling policemen, the plain-clothes agents from the Watcher’s Office or the wandering Alpha. I’m racking my brains to worm my way to the Temple without being noticed when another siren sets off, immediately followed by another one.

And another one.

Soon they all dish out their harsh concert, indicating the end of the shift and the start of another for the unwashed masses of the Unmarked workers and…

I gasp. Of course, why didn’t I think of it before! There it is, right under my nose – the perfect solution for going on unnoticed.

I frenetically start looking for any dump, which might contain the rags I need to pass for an Unmarked workman. Father Luck is smiling down on me as after a few moments I finally lay my hands on a greasy little heap of hand-me-downs, spilling over from a bin, from which I snatch a cardigan and a black cap. I hasten to button up the cloth, absentmindedly frowning at the smell emanating from it. Brushing back and tying my locks in a messy bun at the top of my head so it can be concealed by the cap is another matter though. As fine as my hair is, it still is too voluminous to be completely contained by my hat. I’m silently cursing my curls as I struggle to hide them. In the end, I decide to give up and to turn up the cardigan’s collar as far as I can. Let’s hope darkness will provide a cover sufficient enough. I put the finishing touches just in time to hear heavy footsteps coming closer.

* * *

 

I silently thank the Father Above for the fact that Unmarked people always tend to travel in large groups. Whenever they’re going to work or shopping, they do their best not to go alone. ‘Strength through Unity’ could be their motto if it didn’t reveal so much the fear which must be theirs whenever they find themselves outside their house on their own.

I crouch against the wall, keeping still as the first workers go past my hideout, unaware of my presence. They’re walking with their head bowed and hunched shoulders but I do not think for one minute they won’t notice some stranger suddenly slipping among them. Their safety mainly depends on their vigilance. I have seen it for instance whenever they were readily parting to let pass the carriage I was in, usually riding at full speed and not caring very much if it collided with someone. I see it now, as I examine thanks to a nearby streetlamp the strain on their faces and their restless gaze.

But I have no other choice than to join them.

I quickly realise that the best way to do so is to wait until they’re all past the alley I’m currently hiding in before running after them, passing myself off as a stupid straggler.

My heart jumps in my throat as I carry out this hasty little scheme.

“Wait! Please!”

They all swivel round, their eyes wide with fright. During an excruciating moment, we all remain still, locked in a silent examination.

I fight the temptation to fidget around with the cardigan’s buttons, wondering if my poor disguise will be noticed right away.

A heavyset man breaks away from the group, stepping forward in my direction.

“What’s up, laddie? You lost?”

I do my best to erase my upper-class accent – Miss Leech would have a heart attack right now if she could hear me – as I meekly reply

“No, Sir. I was leaving the house but Mom needed me so now I’m late and I don’t want to…”

An awkward silence followed my explanation. The man is staring at me with a puzzled frown on his face, like he doesn’t know whether to believe me or not. I’m starting to sweat under my dirty clothes when a woman shoulders her way through the crowd, peering at me carefully before visibly relaxing. Her lips curled into a kind smile.

“Where you going to, sonny?

“The factory on the other bank.”

“Fine. Join us, then!”

“Wait a minute!” the man says but the woman glares at him before breaking off.

“What you playing at, Lee? (She points me out.) You afraid of a boy, now?”

Other Unmarked are chuckling while Lee reddens, but doesn’t say anything else. Satisfied, the woman pulls me by the arm, nudging me forward as the group resumes its journey.

“Come on, sonny, you shouldn’t walk alone!” she gently rebukes me. “What your name?”

“Billy”, I quickly reply, surprised to see myself being so readily accepted by these strangers. Of course, I must seem harmless to them, having no Mark on my forehead, but they weren’t obliged to help me. The fact that they did astounds me.

I try to pay attention to what my companion is saying – “I’m no Madam, boy, call me Martha!” – and to where we’re going. I feel great relief when the Unmarked walk towards the Bridge of Sighs. On the other side, the Temple’s huge tower, miraculously spared by the bombings during the war, is waiting for me. I’m getting closer to my goal. To Violet and all the answers she owes me. I instinctively clutch the ring hidden under my clothes.

“Hey, Martha, any news of your friend?” an Unmarked woman suddenly asks in a gruff voice.

Martha sighs.

“Still crying her eyes out. That’s all she’s doing since her Johnny got locked up at Stonewall.”

“Poor Watson. She didn’t deserve that.”

“The lad going to be executed any day now…”

I can’t help looking at Martha, silently begging her for more information. Not that an Unmarked’s impeding execution is startling news – it regularly happens for one reason or another. But the fact that this Johnny Watson is currently imprisoned at Stonewall, the old royal fortress on Stony Island turned into a high-security prison by the Chancellor, is intriguing. I wonder which kind of capital offence he has committed.

Martha must have seen the curious glint in my eyes as she gives me a tired smile.

“You didn’t hear the news then, Billy? Watson tries to pass himself off as an Alpha to attend the medical courses at the university. Was dreaming of being a doctor, that one. (She clicks her tongue) These things never end up well.”

Indeed. But I can’t help feeling impressed by this Unmarked’s boldness. Yes, his attempt was foolhardy and doomed from the start but at the same time… He didn’t resign himself to his fate as Unmarked, did he? He was brave enough to take a huge risk in order to get what he wanted.

I wonder if I would have done the same, had I been in his shoes.


	12. Chapter 12

Talking about Johnny Watson’s future fate has definitely dampened the spirit of the whole Unmarked group and someone hastens to change the topic of the conversation, chatting about the new DreamSeries which will be launched in a couple of days – a story of two Alpha soldiers fighting against Natives in a dangerous jungle. It seems to me that the Chancellor’s government is trying to seduce young strong Alphas into flocking to the army, which is currently helping our allies on the Continent. After we drove the Natives away from the islands during the first war, the survivors took refuge on the other side of the narrow sea channel dividing our Republic from the Continent. Of course the other countries didn’t see this influx of people in a favourable light and after some long tedious talks which came to nothing, they decided to get rid of these unwanted people. But the Natives, who are rumoured to be as stubborn as they are sly, refused to leave the territory they have unlawfully invaded. Our allies cried for help to the Chancellor, which in turn sent the Republic’s top military experts. I remembered seeing on the DreamNews one year ago our troops being deployed in the gigantic rainforests covering the Continent’s southern extremity and feeling nothing but gratefulness for the fact that this time, my father wouldn’t be sent away.

 “Where you working at, sonny?”

Martha’s question leaves me tongue-tied. We have reached the end of the Bridge of Sighs and my little group of Unmarked is being slowly but surely swallowed up in the large mass of workers hurrying to get to the first check point, where burly Alpha guards are being handed over every Unmarked’s work permit.

It’s time to stop my little deception.

On an impulse I don’t particularly want to explore, I quickly lean toward Martha, brushing my lips against her cheek.

“Thanks for everything,” I whisper before slipping through the Unmarked mob, threading my way to the Temple, which towers above us all. I hear Martha calling out to me, using the false name I gave her, but I don’t turn back. I start unbuttoning the cardigan which served me well, wrapping it afterwards on the shoulders of a woman who turns around, startled.

“Hey, what you…”

The rest gets lost in the buzz of conversation surrounding the crowd. I go on, removing the little cap on my head and letting my long hair unravelling down my back. I feel immediately the change in attitude of people around me – a startled gaze giving me a quick sweep before turning away, the person getting out of my way.

No Unmarked – even women – has hair as long as mine.

Now they know I don’t belong here, among all these faces creased with tiredness and never-ending fear, gruelling work making them look older, hands trembling with exhaustion. For a fleeting moment I think of this Johnny Watson, wondering how he succeeded in tricking Alphas into believing he was one of them.

I’m no Johnny Watson, that’s for sure. But after all I don’t need to, I think, as I finally reach the steps leading up to the Temple.

* * *

 

The familiar scent of beeswax and incense greets me as I climb up to the Temple’s gaping entrance. I used to come a lot here, first with Violet during the war, praying for my father’s safe return, then later at school, when we were required to attend mass at least two times per week. The last time I’ve set foot here was when my father was dying, I think with a shiver, as I automatically draw with my forefinger the Alpha Mark in the air, just above my brow. Ironically, it’s the only time Omegas can use this sign and…

“Hey you!”

I turn round. A priest is emerging from the flickering shadow created by the thousand candles burning bright inside the shrine. His frown disappears as soon as he comes closer and I see a flash of recognition in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Omega Holmes, I didn’t recognize you immediately,” he simpers before frowning.

“Did you come here without your escort?”  

Under the disapproving tone, I hear something else, which repels me so much I fight the temptation to step back. Instead I straighten my back, emphasizing my two-inch height advantage over him.

“Of course not!” I sharply reply, betraying the discomfort I’m feeling right now. “The guards are outside, waiting for me. I get Bonded tomorrow on Victory Island and I wanted to pay a last visit to…”

I don’t know whether it’s the mention of Victory Island or my lie as regards the guards but in any case, it works – the priest takes two paces back to my huge relief, bowing his head at the same time.

“Of course, of course!” he mutters. “May your Bond be blessed with fertility and happiness.”

I’ve heard this traditional expression a hundred times since my Bond to the Trevor family was announced but now, as it comes out from this priest’s mouth, it leaves me with a bitter taste on my tongue. I give him a stiff nod before walking away.

 

* * *

 

I slowly get to the Temple’s heart – the intersection between the nave and the transept, located beneath the huge tower symbolizing Cohn’s ascension to the paradise the Father Above promised him. A paradise we are all supposed to aspire to. In front of me, hung high so that everyone can see it, Cohn is portrayed once again in all his glory, except for the fact that this time a cloth is girding up his loins. Thank the Father Above for small mercies, I think, doing my best not to contemplate the fact that tomorrow, at this hour, I may well see a male’s genitals up close… And not only see them, but touch them or feel them against my skin. How am I going to cope? What am I supposed to do?

When sex educations lessons were planned at school – the pupils called them “How to best please their Alphas” – Miss Leech always took care to exclude me from the class. I heard her justifying this decision with “He doesn’t have to learn about periods and pregnancy diets… Besides, it might well put improper ideas into his head!”

I never became aware of what those “improper ideas” might be and I guess it’s pointless now. All I know is that I don’t have a single idea about how my Mating time with Victor is going to happen. I give a great sigh, which is echoed a thousand times under the stone ceiling of the Temple. All around me, Omegas are kneeling before the altars, the grave faces lit by the candles weeping waxy tears. I slowly pick my way through them, looking for Violet. I don’t know why but suddenly I’m feeling suffocated among all these women, in this atmosphere saturated with the smell of incense and the delicate sound of grief. Omegas weeping while saying their prayers is not new to me, but for some reason, seeing the wet tracks on their cheeks, the red-rimmed eyes sends a chill down my spine. As if they were aware of an impending danger I know nothing about. I pay attention not to tread on the luxurious fabric of dresses and coats trailing on the cold hard stone. I hear an Omega whispering “Heal him, Father, please…” and I feel even more uneasy. I raise my head, scanning the crowd. Where is my stepmother? She must be here, she couldn’t have gone back…

I suddenly glimpse her, standing before one of the collection boxes scattered all over the Temple. I walk to her at a quick pace, suddenly anxious to catch up with her. I’m only a few steps away when she turns her head and catches sight of me. Her eyes widen at once, her mouth opening on a nearly silent gasp of surprise. I do not doubt her first impulse is to ask me what I’m doing here, but Violet is always aware of what could be rumoured about her and her family. So she puts on a fake smile and greets me with “Sherlock, I wonder where you’ve gone” as if I haven’t come here on my own but in the carriage with her. I let her pull me gently but firmly at her side and draw me aside in a remote corner.

“Are you completely mad?” she furiously whispers. “Are you even aware of what could…”

“Enough!” I growl, taking care not to raise my voice.

Violet glances at me, clearly insulted by my reply.

“First Mycroft, then you! Are you all plotting together to drive me crazy?”

If she only knew what her son and his friends intended to do during her absence… But I swallow my words. Now is not the time to reveal Mycroft’s treachery.

“I want to know…”

I break off. Now that I’m standing n front of her, her clear gaze focused on me, I don’t know what to ask first. There are so many questions burning my tongue right now. I see her face clouding over with growing concern and her tone is almost gentle when she asks

“Sherlock? Why did you come here?”

“I want to know how my father died.”

There. I’ve said it. Violet gives me a baffled look.

“What are you talking about? You were here…”

“No, I wasn’t here! You forbade me to enter his room, I wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye!”

Saying it aloud revives all the pain I’ve felt this.

“It would have been unwise, Sherlock,” Violet clearly articulates each word as if I was a simpleton. “I know I’ve hurt you but it was my duty to…”

“How. Did. He. Die?”

Four words that I barely manage not to scream at her; Four words hanging between us.

Violet is staring at me as if I was a stranger to her.

And it’s true in some ways – we barely know each other, forced to live under the same roof but doing our best not to get too close.

“Tell me the truth,” I say. “I can feel you’re lying to me. I don’t want to leave my home without having learned what really happened. Tell me, Violet.”

She lets out an aborted sound, barely a snort. Her eyes are shining in the Temple’s darkness. Has she been crying?

“What do you want me to say, Sherlock? Which truth are you speaking of? All I know is that your father – my Alpha – fell ill and that every cure we tried failed.”

“Did you kill him?”

Violet remains frozen on the spot, blanching before my very eyes. I should be ashamed by my rudeness but at this point I do not care anymore.

“It’s… How… No!” she mutters.

And the expression on her face at this moment, as if she couldn’t believe what she has just heard, makes me feel a tiny bit guilty.

We stand in silence, panting like two boxers after a fifth round. Snatches of prayers and whispers reach our ears.

“Please, Father Above…”

“Holy Father, I beg you…”

“Sherlock.”

Violet reaches out, catching one of my hands between hers. Her earnest gaze is fixed on mine.

“Please.”

And it’s that word, that I’ve seldom heard in Violet’s mouth, which makes me focus on her.

“I beg you, Sherlock, forget us. Forget your father. Forget everything which has ever happened here. You’ll have a new Alpha, a new family, another future. Please.”

I stare at her.

“Are you seriously asking me to…?”

“Yes. Not for my sake but for yours.”

She hesitates before going on.

“You’re asking me for truth. So here is mine – You’ll be happier if you forget us.”

I react instinctively – stepping back, standing out of her reach.

She purses her lips and I wonder for one moment if she’s going to cry, but her self-control does not shatter. She simply looks at me for a while before turning her head away.

“Come on now, it’s getting late. You have a long trip ahead of you tomorrow, you must get some sleep.”

Do I really dare to go back to our house? The nightmare of having seen my home invaded by Mycroft’s friends in their attempt at kidnapping comes back to me. I glance at Violet’s closed-off face. Why would she believe me now, especially after I accused her of murdering her husband?

In the end, I have no choice.

“Yes. Let’s go home.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another interlude from Sherlock's story. This time, it's not a flashback but the excerpt of a script. Yes, I know, it's completely unusual especially in a fic but I wouldn't do it if it wasn't necessary :)  
> Consider it's a story... inside the story!  
> I've already talked about DreamSeries in the earlier chapters and now you're going to see what exactly it's about...  
> As always, I hope you enjoy :)

**DREAMSERIES “THE PATRIOTS”**

**FIRST SEASON**

**PILOT EPISODE “THE MISSION” SHOOTING SCRIPT – GREEN AMENDED**

**APPROVED BY THE CHANCELLOR'S OFFICE**

[Theme music]

_(Note of the producer – war scenes should be edited not to upset Omega sensitivity - Watcher Contact Officer Glen Ross in charge of the operation)_

[Off-stage commentary]

Year Eleven of the Republic. After a long and brutal war, during which too many valiant young men died protecting our freedom, our beloved Chancellor finally succeeded in restoring peace and harmony among us, crushing the Natives under his mighty heel.

But you don’t get rid of this vermin so easily.

Survivors took advantage of our neighbours’ neutrality during the conflict, swarming through their land like hungry locusts in a soon-to-be-harvested field.

These countries could not fight them alone – they cried for our help.

Despite the bloody sacrifice we have just paid, we did not hesitate to answer, raising troops and rushing up to fight off the cruel Natives, even in the heart of the most dangerous jungle...

 

  1. BLACK EAGLE CAMP - TWILIGHT



Lush, dark green background – THE JUNGLE. Unknown territory where strange sounds echo among the trees. Gives off an exotic but hostile atmosphere. Show the countless dangers the soldiers have to face, from the sweltering heat to the pests crawling up the tents’ fabric.

 

Focus on a tent in the middle of the camp. A young man is standing alone, waiting to be ordered to come in. Late twenties, tall, lean, imperious. Spotless uniform. He is William BLAKE.

 

Suddenly hears a pitiful cry. Turns his head in the direction where the sound comes from. Setting sun glinting on his Alpha Mark.

 

We roll focus to see an Unmarked slave lying on the ground, a few feet from Blake. He’s being rightfully punished by a private for some minor offence.

 

Blake stares at them before turning away. Looks uncomfortable.

 

A private suddenly appears, lifting up the tent’s front flap.

 

PRIVATE

Alpha Blake?

 

WILLIAM, standing up straight.

It’s me.

 

PRIVATE

Come in. They’re waiting for you.

 

  1. INT. COMMANDER’S TENT



Two Alphas sitting behind a table on which a map has been unrolled. They’re quietly talking to each other. They both fall silent on William’s entrance. The commander is in his early forties – authoritative face, pepper-and-salt hair – while the man seated next to him is younger.

 

(Zoom in on his face while he’s examining William.)

 

Fair-haired, rugged appearance, handsome in a manly way. Something pained in his blue eyes. He’s been through hard times, seen bad things. He’s Captain Stephen HARRIS.

 

COMMANDER

At ease, Alpha Blake. (Pointing the chair just behind William out) Please sit down. We don’t have much time, so let’s skip formalities and get down to our business.

 

Stephen still staring at William, who doesn’t look away. Implicit challenge between the two men. Who’s going to win?

 

COMMANDER

Alpha Blake…

 

William turns his head slightly in the Commander’s direction, breaking the visual contact. Stephen’s mouth twitches with amusement.

 

COMMANDER

You’ve been strongly recommended by your superior officer. (Lifts up a letter from the table.) He wrote here that despite your youth, you’ve got the necessary skills to accomplish the mission.

 

William opens his mouth, ready to reply, but Stephen beats him.

 

STEPHEN

Can I add something, Alpha Commander?

 

COMMANDER

Yes, go on.

 

STEPHEN

Thank you, Alpha Commander. (He glances at William, who’s glaring at him. Stephen grins at him cheekily.)

I want this to be perfectly clear from the start between us, Alpha Blake – it’s my mission and you’ll be under my command.

 

William is completely shocked.

 

WILLIAM

But Captain Leblanc didn’t say…

 

COMMANDER, breaking him off

Well, order got changed. Happens all the time. Is that going to be a problem, Alpha Blake?

 

William looks at him, open-mouthed, before visibly forcing himself to stay calm.

 

WILLIAM

Of course not, Alpha Commander. I’m willing to help Alpha…

 

STEPHEN

That’s Captain Harris for you, private Blake.

 

Focus on William’s clenched hands.

 

WILLIAM, showing restraint

I’m willing to help Captain (places emphasis on this word) Harris in any way I can.

 

COMMANDER

That’s settled then. Now about this mission…

CUT TO:

 

  1. COMMANDER’S TENT – NIGHT



(William has left. Stephen and the Commander sitting relaxed, feet on the table, smoking Wish Tree cigars. Outside we hear night beasts hooting and screeching. It doesn’t impress the two men in the slightest.)

 

COMMANDER, breaking suddenly the silence between them

Are you sure about him, Harris?

 

STEPHEN

Blake? Of course. Seems perfect for the mission, really. It requires a cool head, steady hands and a clever way of thinking.

 

He looks at the Commander.

 

Do you have a doubt about him, Alpha Commander?

The Commander does not answer immediately. He’s considering the map now unrolled in his lap with a heavy frown. Worried glint in his eyes. He knows the weight of responsibilities.

 

COMMANDER

Not per se. Harris, you understand this mission is of the utmost importance? If you fail, thousands of brave young men are going to die.

 

Stephen stands up in the blink of an eye. His relaxed stance has disappeared, giving way to barely suppressed energy. Muscles bulging under his shirt, eyes blazing, he seems able to move mountains.

 

STEPHEN

I won’t fail.

 

COMMANDER, looks at him with approval

You’re my best hope, Harris. What worries me is the man you’ve chosen for being your second-in-command. Blake doesn’t seem very keen on cooperating with you. Did you see his reaction when we told him he wasn’t going to be in charge of this mission? There cannot be two leaders.

 

STEPHEN

It won’t happen, Alpha Commander. Leave him to me. At the end of the first week, if I tell him to jump, he’s going to say “How high?”.

 

COMMANDER, chuckles.

Don’t break him though.

 

STEPHEN

I would do it if I need to, Alpha Commander. I won’t let anyone talk me down, bloody military genius or not.

 

COMMANDER

I see that. (Stands up with a bit more restraint.) Well, I’m off. Don’t forget to sleep, Harris. Remember you’ll leave Black Eagle camp at dawn.

 

STEPHEN

Of course, Alpha Commander. Goodnight.

 

The Commander leaves the tent. Stephen remains alone, smoking one last time before dropping it. On the table, William’s military file is still open. Stephen looks at one photo, letting his fingers graze lightly at the paper.

 

STEPHEN, whispering

William Blake… We’re going to have a lot of fun together.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Sherlock's story, as he finally sets sail to Victory Island... and falls in love for the first time :)  
> (Am I an horrible tease to say this? ^^)

I feel like I’ve just fallen asleep when I’m woken up by a sharp rap at my door.

“Sherlock?”

I grumble something unintelligible. My eyelids are way too heavy to open yet. Surely dawn hasn’t come so soon?

“Sherlock, you have five minutes to get up and to open your door. The hairdresser and the dressmaker are already here, they won’t be kept waiting for you.”

Goodness. I let out a deep sigh, wondering absentmindedly how Violet’s voice manages to appear so self-possessed. When we came back last night – or rather early this morning – the house was empty. No sign at all that Mycroft’s friends have been here. I bid good night to my stepmother, who has remained stubbornly silent since we got out of the Temple, and went upstairs, heart pounding in my chest.

But I didn’t find anything disturbed in my room. Nothing seems to have been broken, crumpled or even touched at all.

It was like I have dreamed the whole thing.

It didn’t help me falling asleep though. I lay wide awake in my bed, listening out for the slightest noise, ready to bolt my door and to scream for help.

“Sherlock!”

“Coming!” I can’t help but reply in an annoyed voice before finally getting up.

It’s time to face the music and to get myself ready for my future Alpha.

* * *

 

“And there it is!”

I close my eyes, barely able to swallow the cry of pure relief swelling in my throat, as the red-faced women, who were diligently working around me like honeybees buzzing in their hive, take a few steps back in order to admire their work.

“Dear Father Above, what a marvel!”

“I must say, Omega Smith, you and I have worked wonders…”

But it’s Violet’s voice which brings me back to reality.

“Sherlock, you’re absolutely gorgeous.”

I stare at her. She looks as shocked to have uttered these words as I am to have heard them. I don’t think the raw honesty in her voice could have been feigned.

As if to confirm my thoughts, Violet colours a little before turning her head away.

Omega Smith, the dressmaker, who has ruthlessly prodded me for an hour and a half, handling me like I was a rag doll in her hands until I nearly begged for mercy, chuckles at my disbelieving face.

“See for yourself!”

And she takes off the sheet which has been put on the room’s sole mirror.

I remain frozen on the spot.

I can’t believe what my eyes are telling me.

There’s a man in the mirror… No, not a man.

Not a woman either.

Something in between, something unique and pure and wild.

A forgotten deity roaming about this world when it was still young, way before the first men ever set foot on this land.

I blink and the vision disappears.

“What do you think, Omega Holmes?”

“I…”

The truth is I don’t even recognize my reflection. A large part of my unruly curls has been firmly pinned back all around my head, creating a glossy crown studded here and there with little white flowers. The rest of my hair freely flows on my shoulders and down my back in a dark curtain, contrasting with the spotlessly white tunic I’m wearing.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, speaking of the garment I’ve been given, but the women mistake it for an appreciation of my looks.

“I’m happy you like it! First time I apply make up on a male Omega, I must say it’s quite a challenge!”

Violet purses her lips before putting on a fake smile.

“We’re all very grateful for your hard work.” Then she turns to me. “Sherlock, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Hearing this, the hairdresser claps her hands before cooing “Oh, it must be so romantic, getting Bonded on Victory Island! You’re so lucky, Omega Holmes!”

I try out a smile, which must certainly come off as a grimace. But the women don’t pay attention to it, busy conjuring images of my Bonding ceremony in Victory Island’s verdant setting. Only Violet remains focused on me, her gaze never wavering.

“Yes,” I whisper more for her sake than for anyone’s. “I’m very lucky indeed.”

* * *

 

Leaving my home is an anticlimactic moment. I was expecting my heart to be broken at the idea I would never see this house again, but I barely feel anything as I carefully climb into the carriage, Violet right behind me. Mycroft is nowhere to be seen and honestly, it’s easier this way. I don’t think I would have been able to put up with his presence after last night’s events.

When we reach Cohn Island’s harbour, the ship is already waiting for us. It’s an elegant vessel built for speed rather than capacity, unlike the larger steamers bound for the Republic’s most remote islands. And unlike the other ships, its access is heavily guarded by soldiers patrolling along the dock. You don’t get to the Republic’s only supply of Wish Tree plant without showing your credentials.

“Wait here,” Violet says before going out and walking with her Alpha guards to the duty officer. I take this opportunity to glance around. Our appearance has not gone unnoticed and that’s putting it mildly. Among the crowd of departing travellers and their relations having come to wish them a nice trip, many of them are openly staring at my carriage, speculating about the identity of the passenger who is privileged enough to set sail for Victory Island.

I’m so busy observing the ships and all the people milling round I nearly miss Violet’s return.

“It’s all settled. Come on, I’ll introduce your travelling companions.”

I nearly let out a snort at these words. They would rather be chaperones than “travelling companions”, as Violet puts it. Indeed, two well-dressed Omegas, surrounded by Alpha guards and Unmarked servants, are standing a few feet from us, the expressions on their faces revealing their eagerness to meet me. I guess it’s not for the pleasure of my company but for the chance to go aboard the vessel moored just behind them. I slowly get out of the carriage, taking care not to crumple my outfit. My appearance elicits a few gasps and “Come watch this!” from the crowd of onlookers. I even hear “Oh, she’s beautiful!” and in other circumstances I might have laughed to be mistaken for a true Omega rather than the fraud I am right now. I do nothing of the sort, greeting both chaperones with a smile.

They could not have been more different from each other. The first one is as young as me, lean and doesn’t seem to be keen on smiling, especially when our gazes meet.

“Omega Lennox,” Violet introduces her to me and I directly understand she’s the fourth wife of Alpha Lennox, whose tendency to fall under the spell of a charming Omega smile and even more charming figure is only matched by his penchant for falling out of love once he’s bored with them.

I wonder now if Omega Lennox’s little pout is caused by my sight or by her husband’s growing displeasure.

“And Omega Howard has graciously accepted to accompany you as well,” Violet says.

Omega Howard is the opposite of my first chaperone. Small and plump, she beams at me as if we were long-term friends rather than strangers who have just been introduced to each other.

“Omega Holmes, it’s a great honour for me! I must say you cut a very dashing figure in this outfit!”

I stammer my thanks. I don’t know why but her words manage to hit the spot, convincing me where others could not.

A steamer nearby sounds its horn, drowning Omega Howard’s rest of the speech. Instinctively we all look in the ship’s direction.

That’s when I see him, standing in the crowd, watching me with this intensity I’ve never been able to forget.

James.

I gasp.

Take a step forward.

During a fleeting moment, he and I are the only two persons in the whole world.

Then I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder and it startles me, driving my attention away for a second.

“Are you all right, Omega Holmes? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

I don’t know what I’m saying – if I’m saying anything at all.

I’m looking frantically around, trying to find James back in this crowd. But he’s gone as swiftly as he appeared.

Did I really see him? Did my mind play tricks on me?

I suddenly catch sight of Violet’s face. She’s turned as white as a sheet and she’s also surveying the mass of people around us.

She turns her head to me, her gaze meeting mine.

She walks to me, wrapping me in a tight embrace. To a stranger it may appear a fond farewell but the words she whispers in my ear do not have any warmth.

“Promise me you’ll forget it!”

Whatever this “it” may be, I think.

I do not ask.

My lips remain as sealed as they have been earlier in the Temple.

I won’t promise her anything.

I don’t get to enjoy my departure from Cohn Island. We have barely set foot on the vessel’s only desk that we are politely but firmly asked to sit in the cabin booked for us three.

A private shows us the way before closing the door behind us. I slump on my seat, letting the chat of my companions washing over me. I’m physically and mentally too exhausted to take part in the discussion.

Sleep is creeping up on me, I’m falling into a half-asleep state. Visions are dancing before my eyes – Mycroft’s friends chasing me through Cohn Island, James holding out his arms and whispering “Come to me, Sherlock” while Violet is screaming behind me…

“Omega Holmes! You can’t fall asleep now, your clothes will be ruined!”

I stare at Omega Lennox’s disapproving face. What is she saying exactly?

Omega Howard, seated next to her, rolls her eyes not so subtly and it brings a smile to my face.

“Can’t you see he’s ready to drop?”

Without paying attention to Lennox’s glare in return, she stands up, grips a little cushion before leaning toward me.

“Just a moment, Omega Holmes…” she says, her hand delicately grazing the back of my neck. I sit up long enough she has time to put up the cushion between me and the headrest.

The last thing I see before closing my eyes is her kind smile.

“Sleep tight, my boy.”

* * *

 

I wake up with a jolt, getting the sensation of losing my balance. And it may well be the case, I think, when I discover how much I’ve slumped down in my seat when I was asleep.

“You’re finally awake,” Omega Lennox’s disgruntled voice greets me. “Just in time to disembark!”

I blink at her before finally grasping what she is saying.

“We’re already here?” I say, not really waiting for an answer.

“Already?” she repeats, frowning. “It shows that you’ve been asleep during the whole journey!”

“Where is Omega Howard?” I ask, noticing for the first time the absence of my cheerful companion.

“Telling something to the guards, I don’t know what exactly.” Omega Lennox shrugs before smothering a yawn. “I might have a nap myself on my way back…You’re lucky you didn’t have to bear her talking your ear off!”

From what I see, I’m luckier that I won’t have to endure her presence any longer. I stand up, stretching myself and checking in the little mirror in front of me that my hair or my make-up didn’t suffer too much from my sleep.

Through the cabin’s single porthole I suddenly catch my first glimpse of Victory Island.

And it takes my breath away.

I walk closer to the porthole until my nose is nearly grazing the pane.

Behind me Omega Lennox is chattering about nonsensical things like the new DreamSeries which will be launched tonight but I do not pay attention to it.

All my senses are focused on the island slowly revealing itself to me.

From the curve of the sandy beach where blue-green waves are leaving their foam to the white stone of the tall house standing behind the dunes and which I’m guessing is my future home to the dark green Wish Tree fields gently sloping towards the sea, everything I’m seeing right now is so colourful, so striking I can’t help but feeling dazed by this sight.

It never crossed my mind that Victory Island could be so beautiful.

As the ship is sailing round the coast, heading for the tiny harbour, I know that before even meeting my future Alpha for the first time, I’ve already fallen in love with this place.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has been hectic between work, birthday celebrations and the writing I've been trying to accomplish... But at least you've got another chapter today, yay!  
> Thanks to all for your support and your love for this story, I would have given up without you all :)

We’re standing on the deck, the whole ship vibrating under our feet as we come closer to the quay. The captain’s orders can still be heard through the roaring thunder of the engine, his stern voice spurring his men into action. The guards are watching this scene with a bored indifference; They must have seen this a thousand times – the seamen manoeuvring the vessel so that it can be brought parallel to the berth. I glance at their grizzled hair, their tanned faces, the ease with which they’re handling their weapons.

I may not know much about soldiers – why would a delicate, sensitive Omega like me be told about this? – but I’m guessing they’re all war veterans, deemed too old to be enrolled in the war currently raging on the Continent. They’re being stationed here, living an easy life with the sole task of keeping watch over the Wish Tree fields, protecting them from potential threats – but who would dare attacking the Republic’s most treasured resource, apart from rodents and Native ghosts? – while young men are leaving their islands, bright-eyed and eager to prove their valour by finishing off the last members of the Natives folk.

To think that if I were born with the golden Mark on my forehead, it could have been my fate.

One of the soldiers catches my gaze, smirks at me before giving me a naughty wink. I feel myself blushing before looking away.

Another reminder that in an Alpha’s eyes, I would never be anything else than an Omega – someone to be impressed by so-called manly behaviour, to be caught like a trophy at the end of the hunt and to be used until the hunter got bored with his prey.

_Stop it!_

I close my eyes, trying my best to keep this kind of thoughts at bay.

I must convince myself that Victor is not going to be like this. That I stand a chance of finally being understood and appreciated. I do not dare imagining love between us as end goal, even though my treacherous heart beats a little faster at this idea.

I throw my shoulders back and lift up my head, defying the bleak tangle of my thoughts. I’m determined to do everything in my power to please my betrothed as well as his family. I’ll give them my best smile, laugh at their jokes, be serious when it is needed. I’ll charm them – I know I can. And for my future Alpha, I’ll be everything he has ever wanted in a spouse – a sympathetic ear to be found when the weight on his shoulders is too heavy, a kind, caring face at the end of the day, when he’s tired and seeks comfort. I cannot give him children, but I’ll give him everything else– my help, my mind, my body.

Everything that is mine to be offered.

And maybe in return he would like me for what I am.

“Are you all right?” a warm voice whispers in my ear.

I turn my head a little on the right and look down at Omega Howard. I know I’m expected to offer her what a young, still unclaimed Omega is expected to give – the brightest mix of joy and excitement shining in my eyes, in my words.

But I can’t bring myself to do it.

I’m unable to pretend one more time, masquerading as the perfect little bride-to-be – or groom in my case, but does this difference still matter now?

And so I give her the most sincere answer I can muster

“I don’t know.”

Omega Howard glances at her neighbour, Omega Lennox, who doesn’t seem to be able to hear us. Indeed all her attention is focused on the harbour and the little throng of people waiting for us. I have a feeling that my impending Bond to Victor has drawn here and now every inhabitant of Victory Island.

Omega Howard comes closer to me, her little hand slipping round my elbow until our arms are linked together. She raises her head so her voice can still reach my ear while she replies in a soft, earnest tone

“It’s okay, you know. It’s okay to be afraid…”

She hesitates before asking

“You’ve never met your betrothed? Nobody has given you one of his pictures, I imagine?”

I shake my head minutely. Boldly striding across our vessel’s handrail, the seamen are throwing mooring lines to the dockworkers below. Time is running out.

“It was the same for me,” Omega Howard whispers. “On my seventeenth birthday, I got Bonded to a man ten years my senior. I knew absolutely nothing about him. What he looked like, if he already had been Bonded, where he lived… Nothing.”

A sad smile creases her lips during a fleeting moment.

“I had just been told by my father, who wasn’t a kind man by any stretch of the imagination, that I may thank the Father Above with all my heart because someone finally accepted the ugly fat duckling I was then to be his wife. As a result, when I set foot in the church where my future Alpha was waiting for me, I was completely terrified.”

I realize I’m hanging on every one of her words.

“What happened?”

Another smile – but this time it is filled with a quiet happiness that I envy her.

“We’ve been Bonded since twenty-four years, we got three children and we still care very much for each other.”

Her brown eyes are twinkling as she goes on

“Of course, it wasn’t all roses and sunshine, especially at the beginning. It was really tough, learning what it means to live with someone, to share his bed, to get to know the real person behind the public mask. But we held out and we got through all this.”

She gives my arm a fond squeeze.

“You love him then?” I barely dare to ask.

“ _We_ love each other,” she gently corrects me, laying stress on the first word. “It’s really okay to be afraid as you’re about to get Bonded to a stranger. But don’t let yourself be disheartened. Believe in yourself and in your husband. You’ve got everything you need to build together a nice loving relationship. And if you allow me to give you some advice…”

“Yes, please!” I nearly stutter out in my haste to be given what I feel to be an earnest and benevolent guidance.

“Speak to each other. Don’t be afraid to say what you honestly think and feel. Don’t let any misunderstanding linger between you both. If you as well as young Alpha Trevor really want to make this work…”

She looks up at me with so much confidence in her gaze as if she could breathe this feeling into my soul with this sole contact.

“You will be on the path to love and happiness.”

I close again my eyes, this time to hold back my tears. Omega Howard doesn’t add anything else, I guess she’s perfectly able to read on my face the turmoil brewing in my heart.

A metallic screech suddenly hurts my ears.

The gangway between the vessel and Victory Island’s harbour has just been set up.

And everyone, from the seamen to Omega Lennox, seems to remember now my presence aboard, as they turn to me, an expectant look on their features.

“Come on, Sherlock,” Omega Howard nudges me forward. “It’ll be all right.”

And it’s with this promise still ringing in my ears that I step out onto the road to Victory Island.

* * *

 

I’m much too nervous to sneak a look below as I cautiously thread my way on the wobbly plank. It won’t do at all to look up in the hope of meeting my betrothed’s gaze just to stumble against some unseen obstacle.

My heart is racing in my chest as I finally walk down the gangway and set foot on Victory Island’s soil.

I can’t stand it any longer – I raise my head and stare at the group of strangers who waste no time in coming closer to me.

I glimpse a young doe-eyed woman, looking at me before turning away, blushing shyness spreading across her face.

An elderly couple at the front, welcoming smiles on their lips, walking beside one another in nearly perfect synchronization.

Behind them, several Alpha guards – officers, if I can correctly guess what the stripes on their uniforms are telling me – are strolling around arm in arm with their Omegas, children running around them.

I find myself the focus of all this attention while I’m desperately looking for the one person who was supposed to greet me on my arrival.

Where is he?

“Omega Holmes?”

The elderly Omega walks to me, breaking away from his Alpha, who stands back a little, glancing at me before averting his gaze. She’s a small, petite woman, who nevertheless cuts a striking figure in her dark dress, whose hem is adorned with little golden triangles turned upside down, symbolizing Cohn’s ascension to the paradise.

But what really catches my eye is her clear gaze, pale grey shading into light blue. It’s a stern, cold gaze, which seems able to see everything, advantages you want to flaunt as well as flaws you’re keen on hiding. And even though she’s beaming at me, I feel a shiver running down my spine.

“I’m Ethel Trevor,” she introduces herself in a firm voice. “Welcome to Victory Island”.

I shake her hand, muttering a quiet “Thank you” in reply.

I’m too bewildered by the turn of events to say anything else.

I glance over Ethel’s shoulder, still hoping to catch sight of a young man running through the crowd who has gathered around us. I imagine him for a second, panting for breath before smiling apologetically at me and saying…

“Omega Holmes?”

I look down at Ethel, who hasn’t let me go, trapping instead my hand between hers. I suddenly find her touch repellent but I do not dare stepping back.

“I regret an unexpected difficulty has arisen as regards your impeding Bond to my son… Nothing major, mind you, but it will unfortunately delay the ceremony.”

Unexpected difficulty?

What is she talking about?

Omega Howard, whose voice seems to have lost all its cheerfulness, beats me to it.

“What do you mean?”

She moves forward until she’s standing beside me, a frown souring her usually kind face. “Which kind of unexpected difficulty will delay such an important ceremony? And why haven’t we been warned of this before our departure?”

Anyone else would have winced at the hint of dishonesty Omega Howard just boldly dropped. But Ethel stands her ground, her face revealing nothing.

She readily replies, her tone taking on a threatening quality.

“The kind of difficulty I’m afraid I can’t explain to a stranger.”

In a single sentence, she manages to deflect the question and to throw back Omega Howard’s accusation of rudeness in her face. I hear someone titter behind me and suddenly I’ve enough of these displays of power between Omegas.

“Let me introduce then Omega Howard, who gracefully accepted to go with me on this occasion.”

And before Ethel can get her breath back, I go on

“And now I would like to know what’s going on here.”

The glance she directs at me reveals her surprise – did she think I would cower before her? – but her voice doesn’t waver when she answers

“As I said before, something unexpected came up as we were getting ready for the Bonding ceremony.”

An ominous silence falls between us and I’m suddenly afraid of what she’s about to tell me.

“The Chancellor has sent a Dream yesterday to Victor, in which he summoned him at his bedside. He said that he fell ill and that my son was the only one skilled enough to cure him. Of course, Victor needed to leave at once.”

The ghost of a smile touches her lips as she says

“I’m really sorry, Omega Holmes, but you will have to wait for his return.”


	16. Chapter 16

“It’s completely scandalous! How this woman dares trick you into coming here just to tell you you’re going to wait…”

In other circumstances, seeing Omega Howard’s round face turning red with indignation on my behalf would have helped me getting over the icy feeling spreading across my chest and into my very soul.

But not this time.

Partly because I can’t stand the idea of Omega Howard getting into trouble – and if she goes on expressly complaining about Ethel Trevor’s behaviour, she’ll be sure to find herself in a bad spot indeed.

Partly because, as satisfying as it is to hear someone huffing and raging at what happened on the quay, I would rather like standing up again for myself.

It’s a new feeling, this one, fluttering in my mind and over which I’m quite sure I will be musing for days – was it really wise to talk to my future mother-in-law like I did earlier? Should I have remained silent like a proper obedient Omega?

On the other hand, I can’t forget the rush of joy and excitement it gave me to hear myself finally asking someone to explain herself to me.

Like I have stepped into another world, where the right to express yourself wasn’t determined whether you have a Mark on your forehead or not. It was a most liberating experience and one I could really get used to.

In the meantime, however, I’ll do what’s necessary – which means firstly calming down my faithful companion.

Thank the Father Above we currently find ourselves in the Trevors house – a lovely mansion whose white stone walls nicely contrast with the wooden beams above our heads. We had barely set foot inside that Ethel graciously invited me and my Omega companions to “take a bit of a rest” in my future room.

“Before your attention gets monopolized by our guests!” she finished with a shrill giggle before turning her back on me and walking towards the sitting room, where a large part of the group who has witnessed my arrival at the harbour was already sitting down.  

I wait for Omega Howard to turn to me, as she’s pacing round my room – a large, airy space with a very nice view on the beach below spreading in all its sandy glory about a hundred feet from the house – and then I raise my hand in a conciliatory gesture.

“Omega Howard…”

“Don’t you believe we may call each other by our first names, Sherlock?” she interrupts me, cocking an eyebrow.

I stare at her, at the faint smile playing on her lips and suddenly we’re giggling like two mischievous Omegas running from school.

“First names it is, then,” I say before realizing I don’t know hers.

Fortunately she must have read this on my face since she goes on

“I’m Katherine, but my friends call me Kat.”

I do not hesitate taking the hand she holds out to me.

“Nice to meet you, Kat.”

She glances then at the door I closed earlier before turning her head to me and whispering

“I’m not wrong if I say you were going to talk me out of fuming over the behaviour of our honoured hostess?”

The smile she directs at me is still playful but there’s something strained in her expression.

“I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me.”

She opens her mouth as if to protest, but she must think better of it, because she asks

“And what are you going to do, then? Waiting for Victor to heal our beloved Chancellor and finally appear on your doorstep?”

Her voice doesn’t contain any meanness – like myself, she knows only too well what an Omega is entitled to do or not – but it doesn’t stop my breath from hitching in my throat. I try to hide my discomfort at this idea of waiting for someone who might well be held off on Cohn Island for weeks, even months with a shrug.

“Do I have any other choice but to do exactly that?”

Kat bites her lower lip, gazing out of the window.

“Do you want me to tell your family…?”

“No!”

We are both startled by the vehemence of my words. I recover first, softening my voice as I give the first explanation which comes to my mind

“I thank you for your kindness, but it’s not really a good idea. They’ll be worried and… It’s just not a good idea.”

Kat doesn’t answer, she merely stares at me. And she seems to understand what I don’t want to talk about – whether Violet’s incomprehensible behaviour or Mycroft not lifting a finger to save me from his friends. But then it’s not really surprising, I think, remembering what she told me about her father. I’m aware that Omegas can be on intimate terms with anger and unkindness coming from the people around them, I saw it before whether at school or in my own house.

Kat nods.

“Okay… but promise me you will write? Only to drop me a line from time to time?”

“Of course.”

We both know we’re lying to each other. If I ever write to her, my letter will mention everything but the truth. Because I won’t dare putting into words anything I might feel about Victor or his family. Besides, I wouldn’t put it past Ethel to watch or even to open my correspondence.

Speak of the devil, I think, as I suddenly hear my future mother-in-law calling out to me.

It’s time to face the guests attending my brilliant, completely marvellous, non-existent Bonding ceremony.

What a lovely prospect.

I’m already heading for the door when I hear “Sherlock, wait!”

I barely have the time to stop and turn to her – Kat opens her arms only to engulf me into a very unexpected hug. I freeze, unable to decide what to do. From as long as I remember, no other Omega than Violet and my nurses have held me in such an embrace.

If my mother has ever rocked me in her arms, I have forgotten it.

I finally pat her on the shoulder, feeling completely ridiculous as I do so, but Kat doesn’t seem to mind. She lets me go and looks up at me, hopefulness shining in her gaze.

“Take care, Sherlock.”

* * *

 

It’s even more awful than I thought it would be.

All these people milling round the Trevors house, going outside on the south-facing terrace before coming back in the sitting room and looking at me like I was the new unusual sight on an island which is a curiosity in itself.

“What do you think about Victory Island, Sherlock?”

“Do you like your new home?”

“Are you as eager as myself to watch the new DreamSeries tonight? I literally can’t wait!”

Of course they’ll broach every subject save for Victor and the Bond who won’t finally occur.

I look down at the glass in my hand while lying through my teeth.

“Naturally, I’m looking forward to discovering this new series…”

Ethel chooses this moment to raise her head, glancing at me. I can see she isn’t fooled by my declaration but I find out I don’t really care for the moment.

I turn away from her, giving a faint smile to the Omega who is so keen on watching _The Patriots_ tonight – if she only knew my opinion about DreamSeries, she would let out a horrified gasp – before slipping out of the crowded room and heading for my room upstairs. I just can’t stay with all these people right now, answering to their many questions – are they only genuine? Or are they just trying to distract me from thinking about how this day ended in a fiasco?

As if I could forget!

I’m already on the first step when I hear behind me

“Omega Holmes?”

No. Not again.

I slowly turn round, ready to deliver any excuse which might grant me some reprieve.

But all the words die in my throat when I see the young woman standing a few feet from me, biting her lip in a nervous gesture.

She seems familiar.

“You were at the harbour.”

She instantly goes bright red, but it doesn’t stop her from replying.

“Yes… I’m really sorry for… You know,” she breaks off, her doe-eyed gaze now directed at her shoes.

Great. Now I have to put her mind at ease, as if it wasn’t already difficult for me to bear all this with a modicum of grace. Some part of me knows full well that I’m behaving like a petty spoiled child towards this Omega, who isn’t responsible in the slightest for my current predicament, but right now? I don’t care.

I just want to be left alone.

To be able to forget the anxious feeling telling me that by coming here, I haven’t found any freedom – I’ve just exchanged a prison for another.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have reminded you.”

She walks to me, holding out her hand.

“We weren’t introduced before. I’m Molly Hoo.. I mean Molly Trevor. Your sister-in-law.”

I automatically shake her hand, staring at her in a puzzled way.

“I wasn’t aware that Victor’s siblings were still living here…”

“It’s a most recent development,” she says in a small, brittle voice.

One glance at her wrist, where the same ugly scar I’ve had since my father’s death can be seen, is enough to confirm me that yes, I’ve put my foot in it.

Whether her husband is dead or has repudiated her, one thing is sure – she has known the pain of a broken Bond.

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” she interrupts me. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

I’m almost afraid to look at her, but her expression seems earnest enough. She smiles reassuringly at me before pulling a small parcel wrapped in brown paper out of her dress’ pocket.

“I also wanted to give you this.”

She bites her lip again as I take it in my hands, slowly examining it. I slip a finger under the string binding the whole thing together, but Molly stops me with a furious whisper

“Don’t! Not here, anyway!”

“Why not?”

She glances around us, as if she was expecting some agent of the Watchers’ Office to barge in, before resuming.

“I don’t want my mother to know I’ve given you this. She wouldn’t appreciate it.”

I gape at her, her cheeks still red with embarrassment contrasting with the determined glint in her dark eyes. She raises an eyebrow as if silently challenging me to turn down her gift. Of course, it makes me want to do the very opposite. I let out a light snort.

“I hope it isn’t something dangerous.”

I see her nose twitch in an amused way.

“I wouldn’t do that to... a fellow Omega.”

I pretend not to notice her faltering – I’m quite sure she was going to say “brother-in-law”.

“Thanks then. I’m going upstairs, just to get a bit of rest.”

Molly nods, her dark brown eyes looking at me sympathetically, as if she knows exactly what’s going on in my mind.

“Don’t be too long though. My mother insists on everyone attending the DreamSeries tonight.”

And something in her voice lets me know she’s perfectly aware of the difficulties I still experience when I’m forced to receive a Dream.

I smother a sigh.

It’s very far from what I’ve imagined for my first night on Victory Island.

 

* * *

 

As I open Molly’s gift, I understand why Ethel Trevor would disapprove. An old Omega tradition forbids indeed the bride to see her future Alpha before the Bonding ceremony – it’s rumoured to bring bad luck.

I remember the dress Ethel was wearing at the harbour earlier, the hem adorned with little golden triangles turned upside down, symbolizing Cohn’s ascension to the paradise.

She would certainly like to observe old rituals. Realizing this makes me even more aware of Molly’s unexpected act of defiance against her mother. While she couldn’t give me the opportunity to meet her brother, she offered me the second-best alternative, I think, as I discover Victor’s portrait.

It’s by no way a tremendously good work. In fact, I suspect Molly has painted it herself. But the result is surprisingly… engaging. I gaze at the red hair cut short, the blue impish gaze, the lips curled up just a little, as if he was about to smile or to laugh heartily at something.

As I examine this depiction, I have the feeling Victor and I could really get along with each other.

At least, if he was there.

I carefully put Molly’s gift in one of the chest’s drawers before closing it again. I would look at it later when it doesn’t hurt so much.

I slowly go to the window and open it. I lean up against the wall, taking in the view. It’s truly marvellous out there, with the beach lit by the sunset, the gentle waves washing ashore, the seagulls’ cries. The fresh sea air brushes against my face in a gentle caress, as if it wanted to soothe the pain pulsing inside my chest. I close my eyes, feeling the anxious tangle of my feelings coming undone a little bit.

If only…

I suddenly hear a harsh noise followed by a cry of pain.

And it’s coming just below my window.

I lean forward, peering at the flowerbed which has been long overgrown with white and purple heather.

No one in sight.

“Hello? Someone out there?”

I feel a bit foolish calling out like this, but I’m quite sure I’ve heard someone and…

A light knock at my door makes me swear.

“What is it?” I rudely ask.

“Mistress Trevor is asking for you,” a young girl’s voice pipes up through the door.

Damn this woman!

“I’m coming,” I answer, sparing one last glance at the large stretch of heather down below and wondering why, during a fleeting moment, I was quite sure someone was watching me.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And one more interlude :) (They always come before the main dish ^^)

**DREAMSERIES “THE PATRIOTS”**

**FIRST SEASON**

**SECOND EPISODE “THE KILLING FOREST” SHOOTING SCRIPT – GREEN AMENDED**

**APPROVED BY THE CHANCELLOR’S OFFICE**

[Theme music]

_(Note of the producer –war scenes should be edited not to upset Omega sensitivity - Watcher Contact Officer Glen Ross in charge of the operation)_

 

  1. THE JUNGLE – AFTERNOON



(Lush, dark green background – THE JUNGLE. Sunlight filtering through gigantic trees. Birds singing. In the background, we see soldiers struggling to set up camp. Zoom in on their dirty, exhausted faces. It must be obvious that the mission they have been chosen for is already taking its toll).

 

Captain Stephen Harris suddenly appears, lifting up the flap of the only tent who is already up. He’s closely followed by William Blake. Both wear their fatigues. There are dark shadows under their eyes but their brisk pace and sharp gestures show that they still got the will and energy necessary to go on. They’re men of valour.

 

WILLIAM, not caring to lower his voice now that he’s out

I tell you again this is not the best way to get access…

 

Stephen turns round, eyes blazing with barely restrained anger. He takes a step forward – right into William’s space.

 

STEPHEN, with a fake smile on his lips

This particular topic is no longer under consideration, private Blake. Do I make myself clear?

 

They’re both staring at each other. You can feel the tension vibrating between them. William opens his mouth but he doesn’t say anything as he becomes aware that soldiers are looking at them both.

 

WILLIAM

Yes, _Captain._ (emphasis on this title)

 

Stephen purses his lips. William looks down at him, showing his slight height advantage as best as he can. But Stephen refuses to let himself be drawn into this petty game. He leans in, growling in his subordinate’s ear.

 

You better be.

 

He takes a step back, turns on his heels and leaves. William remains alone, mouth slightly open. He’s suddenly aware of an Unmarked slave’s glance as he passes by him.

 

WILLIAM, barking

What are you looking at?

 

UNMARKED SLAVE, stammering and cowering

No… Nothing! I just…

 

He lets out a surprised cry as William aims a kick at him.

 

WILLIAM

Out of my way!

 

He walks out.

 

CUT TO:

 

  1. WILLIAM’S TENT – NIGHT



(William alone, lying in his bed. Around him maps and military reports are spread on the sheets. He’s peering at a thin book, sometimes stopping his reading to take notes. Whole scene is only lit by a candle. William has taken off his shirt. Beads of sweat slowly rolling on his fair skin, the sweltering heat is unbearable.)

 

A shadow suddenly moves towards him. William is startled, jumps out of his bed.

 

STEPHEN’S VOICE, a bit derisive

You may relax, private, it’s only me.

 

He slowly appears in the camera’s field of view. Shirt wide open on his vest, dog tags softly clinking. His gaze is still alert, but he moves with a liquid grace which shows he has dropped his guard a little. That’s not the case for William, who is standing straight, fists clenched, watching his captain like a hawk.

 

STEPHEN, chuckling

Of course, if I was a Native, you’d already be dead!

 

WILLIAM

Must all your words come with barbs? Or is this privilege only intended for me?

 

Stephen’s jaw suddenly set in an angry line. They’re both looking at each other, mirroring the earlier stance. Stephen heaves a sigh and drops his gaze.

 

STEPHEN, in a tone as calm as it is commanding

I didn’t come here to fight with you… William.

 

William is taken aback by this unexpected familiarity.

 

STEPHEN, still looking away

We’re nearly always at each other’s throats and it doesn’t improve the men’s mood. They’re already nervous enough, there’s no need to make it even worse.

 

WILLIAM, speaking defiantly

Are you saying you want my help, Captain Harris?

 

Stephen raises his head. Their gazes lock in a fiery combat. A long moment passes before Stephen breaks the silence.

STEPHEN

The Father Above knows I’ve never met a man as infuriating as you.

 

WILLIAM, whispering in turn

And the crow calls the raven black.

 

Despite his best efforts, Stephen’s nose twitches with amusement.

 

STEPHEN

Are you trying to anger me?

 

WILLIAM

No, Captain. I’m here to do my job, which means helping you as best as I can… if I’m allowed to do so.

 

Stephen’s face darkens.

 

STEPHEN

Don’t you dare criticizing the decisions I’ve taken, private Blake. I warn you, that’s not a wise move.

 

WILLIAM, hotly retorting

I’m sick of hearing this! ( _He adopts a ridiculous voice_ ) Don’t test me, don’t tempt me!

( _Speaking normally again_ ) Have you ever tried listening to another opinion than yours? Or are you so conceited you’re willing to risk the men and the mission you’ve been assigned just to salvage your pride?

 

They are coming closer to each other, slowly circling round like two wild beasts ready to tear into the other.

 

WILLIAM

Are you finally ready to let me in?

 

STEPHEN

I…

 

Suddenly horrible cries are heard outside.

Cries of hurting, dying men.

 

STEPHEN

What the…

A whistle resounds inside the tent.

Stephen screams.

 

WILLIAM, terrified

Captain!

 

He rushes to Stephen, just in time to catch him in his arms as the other man falls.

A tiny bloody flower is blooming on his chest.

 

WILLIAM

(spotting suddenly something before grasping it and throwing it away) A Native dart! Damn these devils to the seven hells!

(Screaming) Medic! Medic! Man down, man down!

 

Commotion outside.

Screams. Gunshots. Snatches of harsh voices speaking an unknown language.

William has only eyes for Stephen, now unconscious.

 

WILLIAM, in an ardent whisper

Don’t you dare, Captain. Don’t you dare leaving me alone. I’m not finished with you, do you hear me?

(Fingers clenching in Stephen’s shirt)

Don’t you dare.

 

CUT TO:

 

  1. INFIRMARY – NEXT MORNING



(Men lying in camp beds. Light moans can be heard. Soldiers are walking between beds, softly talking to the wounded. In a corner, all by himself – Stephen’s bed. William is sitting on the ground right next to it. He is exhausted but shakes his head when a private suggests him to go to sleep.)

 

PRIVATE

I promise I will tell you…

 

At this moment Stephen opens his eyes. His first look is directed at William.

 

STEPHEN, rasping out

William…

 

WILLIAM, barely suppressing his relieved smile

I’m here, I’m here.

 

STEPHEN

Are we…

 

WILLIAM

It’s okay. Don’t move, you’re going to hurt yourself. Here, let me…

 

He accepts the flask that the private is holding out before helping Stephen to sit up.

 

WILLIAM

Only small sips, mind you.

 

STEPHEN, grumbling

I know! I’ve been hurt before. Besides, it's only a scratch.

 

He’s drinking in silence.

He’s visibly hurting but he doesn’t complain.

 

STEPHEN

How many…

 

WILLIAM

One dead – an Unmarked. Two seriously injured among our soldiers. The rest is getting along. Attackers all killed. We’ve been lucky.

 

Stephen doesn’t answer. He’s staring into space, he doesn’t seem to have heard.

But the pain you can see in his blue eyes is telling another story.

 

STEPHEN

I’m going to crush them. All these filthy, treacherous sons of a…

 

WILLIAM, interrupting

_We_ ’re going to crush them.

 

Stephen looks at him.

The shadow of a smile on his lips.

STEPHEN

You’re right.

 

WILLIAM

Miracles happen.

 

A brief, knowing grin on their faces.

Two men who got nothing in common and are finding their way to a strong friendship.

 

STEPHEN

Ready to follow me this time?

 

WILLIAM, teasing

You only need to say “Dangerous” and I’ll jump.

 

He looks away, cheeks slightly rosy.

 

WILLIAM, holding out a small, silver-framed picture

I found this in your shirt’s inside pocket. I didn’t mean to pry but…

 

STEPHEN, taking it in his hand and giving it a very fond look

That’s okay. I would have been very sad indeed to lose it. Thank you William.

 

WILLIAM, clearing his throat

You’re welcome. Who is she?

 

Focus on the portrait. It shows a pale, young, beautiful woman - a fragile little doll, serenely smiling at the camera. On her left wrist a delicate Mark can be seen. She is dressed demurely and doesn’t wear any make-up. A natural beauty.

 

STEPHEN

She’s my betrothed. Waiting for my return so we can finally be Bonded.

(Looking at William.) Do you have… ?

 

WILLIAM

No! I mean… Not yet.

 

STEPHEN

You still have time. When you will come back to our beloved Republic, you’re going to beat them off with a stick!

(Waggling his eyebrows)

Lovely Omegas like her just can’t resist a soldier’s smile!

 

He’s obviously waiting for William to comment, but the young man remains silent, looking away.

 

STEPHEN, frowning

William? You okay?

 

WILLIAM

Sure. Get some rest, Captain. We leave tomorrow at dawn.

 

He gives him one last smile, gets up and leaves.

Stephen watches his retreating back before shrugging and looking at the portrait.

 

STEPHEN

My lovely. One day you’ll be mine.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're finally getting to the main course...  
> Thank you all for your patience, I hope you still enjoy this story :)

“By the Father Above, what a waste of time!” Molly moans before plumping down on the old bench next to me. I glance at her. The sun shining down on us, casting its golden light on the southern terrace, doesn’t conceal in the least the disappointment tarnishing Molly’s hazel eyes. She looks so disgruntled that I can’t resist trying to tease her into coming out of her miserable mood.

“Wait, don’t tell me… He wasn’t looking in the least like Captain Harris?” I say, widening my eyes in mock innocence.

It does the trick. Being reminded of her crush on _the Patriots’_ main character makes Molly blush furiously. She punches me lightly on the arm.

“Outch! Did you also behave in the same way with your suitor?” I ask, making a show of rubbing my arm.

“Would you stop it, you big baby?” she says, laughing. “And I only wish I had punched him – for real, this time! He only had eyes for the “marvellous” island where we’re living or our “very nice” house… I wasn’t interesting enough to deserve a single question of his.”

I look at her strained expression, the way her fingers are nervously twisting the handkerchief in her hands. I wonder if Ethel does notice the same things I do when one Alpha, lured by the Trevors’ name or their wealth, asks to be introduced to Molly.

It has happened twice since I’m here and so far, it has followed the same pattern.

The bright-eyed look Molly vainly tries to hide, caution and excitement warring against one another in her bearing while she’s waiting for her would-be suitor; And the crushing discouragement she felt once she has met them.

It seems that even the Trevors’ influence isn’t incentive enough for these men to disregard the fact that Molly has been repudiated by her husband ten months after their Bonding. The rumour of her infertility has spread like a disease, far beyond Ethel’s ability to nip it in the bud.

“I… I don’t understand!” she bursts out, breaking the silence between us. “Why are they asking to meet me if they don’t intend to speak to me? If they are not interested in…”

She breaks off, lips pursed in a tight line. For a moment, I’m afraid she’s going to cry and I don’t know if I’ll be able to comfort her, but Molly takes a deep breath and goes on.

“The worst part in this mess is my mother. The way she smiles at them… She nearly fawns on the last one because his father was a priest! She knows she doesn’t have a chance to conclude a Bonding agreement once again since this time I’m no virgin, so she obviously expects that Alpha Charming will show up one day and fall heads over heels for me…”

She shrugs.

“So far it hasn’t happened.”

“It’s not your fault,” I can’t help but protest.

“Mother will strongly disagree with you.”

“Blast her!”

We’re both left speechless by my careless outburst. Molly gasps, staring at me with a wide-eyed look. For a fleeting moment, I fear that Ethel is standing just behind me, having heard everything. I’m about to turn round when my companion and future sister-in-law giggles.

“Molly! You naughty girl, you give me such a fright!”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist…,” she says before sobering up. “It wasn’t very wise to say this.”

My turn to shrug.

It has been fifteen days since I’ve set foot on Victory Island and still no news of Victor. No Dream – and I’ve done my best to let my mind open, even if this very idea still makes me afraid – no letter. Nothing. I don’t even know if he’s still at the Chancellor’s bedside, like he is supposed to be.

I smother a sigh. So far Molly is the only person here who has reached out to me, trying to cheer me up. Ethel is too busy playing her role as Omega of the house and receiving Molly’s suitors – for all the good it has done yet – when she’s not working in her laboratory, set up in a lonely house on the top of a hill, not far from the Trevors’ mansion. You can’t see it when you arrive by boat at Victory Island, it’s hidden behind a very convenient pine grove.

And of course no one is allowed there but her, as she told me when I dared asking her this question.

As for her husband… I really don’t know what to think of him. Most of the time he shuts himself away in his study, emerging only when it’s time to go to bed or for the meals. He’s a quiet man, eating sparingly and replying in monosyllables when he’s asked something – which seldom happens, as Ethel likes to monopolize the conversation. She leads everyone in prayer as soon as we are all sitting down at the table, before ordering the servants about and talking about every bit of news she can get her hands on.

In moments like these, I feel most acutely Victory Island’s isolation. Even though her landscapes and the vibrant colours you can find here still take my breath away, I’m not still used to the heavy silence shrouding the whole place at nightfall. Besides, once you’re out of the house, there’s nowhere to go except for the beach or the Wish Tree Plant fields – and I’m not a complete fool to go wandering in this part of the island.

Since the guards and their families come and go, rotating between their duties and their leaves, there’s no point in establishing a Coven. Besides, I doubt Ethel would have time to oversee it.

I chuckle at the idea of missing the dull Coven’s meetings back on Cohn Island. If Omega Hudson could see me now, she would shake her head.

“Oh Sherlock…”

I can still hear her voice in my head.

Molly is looking askance at me.

“What’s so funny?”

Before I can reply though, soft footsteps are heard behind my back. A young servant appears, a small stack of letters in her hands.

“Omega Trevor? You’ve got mail.”

“Oh yes! Give them to me!”

Molly is already standing up, holding out her hands, gaze shining with excitement. I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm for reading her friends’ letters. It seems that being repudiated hasn’t cut Molly off from the bonds of friendship she has formed when she was still living with her former Alpha. Good for her, she needs them.

She’s already holding her post tightly against her chest as if it was a treasure when she remembers my presence. She turns to me, lightly biting her lower lip like she has been caught out.

“You don’t mind if…?”

“Of course not!” I hasten to reply, even if some small petty voice in my head is already complaining. “Go read them – and don’t forget to ask your friends if they don’t know some Alpha who could pass for this Captain Harris you’re so fond of!”

“I’ve already told you, that’s not what you think!”

“Sure,” I retort before laughing loudly when she sticks out her tongue at me before disappearing inside the house.

The Father Above blesses Molly and her totally improper ways.

Without her I would already have died of boredom.

* * *

 

Night is slowly falling when I reach the beach. After a quiet meal – even Ethel wasn’t in a chatty mood, frowning at the food in her plate as if it has personally offended her – Molly directly went in her room. She still had letters to write, I assumed. As for myself, it’s time for my little ritual before bedtime. The cook winks at me now when she sees me stealing half a loaf of bread before going out through the back door.

A little group of seagulls is already waiting for me as I walk down to the sand, stopping just before the shoreline. I go barefoot, enjoying the feeling of wet sand on my skin. Sharp cries greet me – the clever birds have perfectly understood my little game and although they surely don’t need to be fed, they seem to enjoy free food as well as my company.

“Alright, alright!” I laughingly say as they fly and hop closer to me, beaks open in protest.

“I get it, you’re hungry…”

I tear out large chunks from the bread, throwing them to the birds, admiring their wild beauty and their flying prowess at the same time. Above my head, the sky has turned a fiery purple. When I’m here, with only the birds and the sea for company, I can nearly feel…all right. At peace with the whole world.

I can forget I’m still an Unclaimed Omega.

Still unkissed. Untouched.

I can forget Ethel’s sanctimonious attitude, which is getting on my nerves.

I can forget Victor’s absence or my suspicions that he won’t come back. Does he even exist? If I hadn’t the portrait Molly has offered to me, I would doubt it.

I can forget Violet’s complete silence.

“Forget us, Sherlock”.

Well, she certainly succeeded in forgetting me.

I can almost forget my father’s ring that I’m still wearing under my shirt as a talisman – I don’t know any more from what it’s supposed to protect me.

I throw the last piece of bread before holding out my empty hands to my disbelieving friends.

“Sorry, ladies and gentlemen. See you tomorrow!”

But, instead of going back to the house, I decide to walk a bit further in the other direction, enjoying the sand giving way under my feet, dancing with the swash waves washing up on the beach. The wind is mild, but strong enough so my hair will get tangled. At least it’ll give me something to do before lying in bed and trying to sleep. I even enjoyed a bit the DreamSeries I’ve been forced to attend, Ethel watching me like a hawk during the whole event. Even though there’s nothing original about _The Patriots_ and I’m far from being enamoured with the characters, as Molly seems to be, I took an interest in this series sufficient enough so that watching it wasn’t a complete chore.

Besides, it gave me pause for thought.

Which kind of life would I have had if I had been born an Alpha, like Blake or Harris?

Would I have been enrolled in the war currently raging on the Continent?

I’m really not keen on the idea of fighting against Natives – even if they are depicted as wild, filthy beasts in the series, I do not believe somehow that the first war’s survivors were posing a real threat to our allies on the Continent. Not real enough anyway to make war again on them.

However, as I watched the last episode, I found myself envying the easy comradeship between the soldiers. Even when they’re facing danger, they’re not alone – that’s more than I can say for myself.

Lost in my thoughts, I startle when I suddenly see rocks in front of me. I’ve walked a great deal further than I expected to do – I’ve come to the end of the beach, where the sand abruptly disappears and a craggy mound takes over from here. Molly told me the other day that the hill at the foot of which I’m standing right now is not believed to be natural. It is rumoured that the Natives built it in a desperate attempt at turning this island into a stronghold which could withstand the assault of the Chancellor’s troops. Of course, they didn’t succeed but the hill remained the same, even if the place is reportedly haunted.

Maybe that’s why Ethel has chosen this remote place to establish her laboratory, I muse, as I’m trying to distinguish the house I know to be there between the pine branches. I take a few paces back, hoping to get a better view of this site I’ve been forbidden to enter. Thanks to a gap between two trees, I can finally examine it at will – at least, when there’s still natural light to do so. It’s really an unassuming building – a two-story house built in simple, dark red brick, blending in with the décor.

To think that Ethel discovered here the proper way to extract the Wish Tree’s essence and to mix it into daily products… I still have the familiar, bittersweet taste of my last cup of tea on my tongue.

I’m ready to retrace my steps back to the Trevors’ house when I suddenly hear a door banging nearby.

I instinctively raise my head.

And I see him.

It isn’t Ethel for sure.

He’s walking to the edge of the hill and I’m staring at him, transfixed.

The upcoming darkness conceals his features, but that’s definitely the figure of a man up there, no doubt about it.

And he just went out of a house which was supposed to be empty.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will notice, dear readers, that this story's rating has become "Explicit"... You know what it means, right?  
> Let the fun begin :) (at least for us ^^)

Still staring at this stranger, I instinctively take a step forward.

A very bad decision as it turns out, since my gesture draws the mysterious man’s attention. I hear him giving a gasp of surprise. I can’t read his expression, he’s too far away and the nightfall doesn’t help. Damn my curiosity, as I see him moving back, still looking at me.

“No! Wait!”

But my cry is pointless – the stranger turns on his heels and rushes inside the house.

I remain alone, still unable to believe my eyes, my mind burning with questions I can’t answer.

Who is this man? What was he doing in Ethel’s house?

If we were in Cohn Island, I would not hesitate warning the police, telling them what I’ve just seen – it may be an Unmarked tramp or even worse, a burglar.

Two possibilities which cannot be considered here, on Victory Island, whose access is being watched day and night.

And hot on the heels of this conclusion follows another – Ethel must know this man.

She cannot be unaware of his presence not when he’s living here, under her very roof. Therefore the question remains – who is he? Why is he hiding there? Why does she help him?

The impulse of going over to this house and knocking at the door until this man lets me in worms his way into my mind, but it is immediately tempered with a very reasonable voice – it must be my survival instinct. I may show some boldness from time to time, but giving in to this particular temptation would be foolhardy, if not downright dangerous.

I’m still an Unclaimed Omega, after all.

And since Ethel is definitely involved in this mystery, I must be cautious.

Which doesn’t stop me from cursing my helplessness.

If only I had been born an Alpha! I would have every right to go over there and order this stranger to answer all my questions.

Instead I have to go back to the Trevors house, seething with anger and curiosity.

In a flash, I’m suddenly reminded of James’ teasing smile, the very one he used to give me before daring me to follow him through the Omega school.

“Are you going to stay here, waiting for the answer to fall into your lap, Sherlock?”

I clench my fists.

I certainly do not intend to sit idly by.

I’m going to solve this mystery.

And I know the very person who will help me in this task.

* * *

 

When I set foot again in the house, I’m panting for breath. I have run all the way to the mansion and my heart is pounding so strongly in my chest I’m sure someone is going to hear me. But no one tries to stop me as I slip through the corridor to the entrance hall. The whole house seems to be wrapped in a quiet darkness – it must be later than I thought. I cautiously go upstairs, taking care to go as slowly as I can, so that the slightly squeaking stairs do not betray me. I don’t know if I would be able to keep up a straight face if Ethel catches me out now.

I sigh with relief as I reach the first floor. Instead of turning to the right, the direction I would take if I would go to my room, I go the other way, going on tiptoe past the door of the master room in which I sincerely hope Ethel and her husband are both sound asleep.

There, at the end of the corridor, stands my objective – the door to Molly’s room.

* * *

 

“Molly? Molly?”

No answer – unless you count the faint echo of my anxious voice.

I glance behind me, biting my lip.

Is she already sleeping?

Fingers grasping the handle, I hesitate before trying the door.

Caution be damned, I can’t stay here. And waiting until next day to confide to Molly what I’ve just seen is completely out of the question. I will go mad.

Luck is on my side – the door silently opens.

I slip inside and grin as I directly spot my future partner-in-crime sitting at her desk. She has her back to me and she seems to be lost in her own little world, furiously writing what I assume is another of her long letters to her friends.

I nip in the bud the jealousy I can feel towards these strangers. I do not doubt Molly won’t resist the mystery I’m going to hand to her on a plate. We’ll see then who will deserve her undivided attention!

“Molly?”

I try to whisper as softly as possible, but judging from her reaction, I seem to have screamed at the top of my lungs. She raises her head, sees my shadow reflected in the window and lets out a horrified cry, which loudly echoes in the room.

It’s lucky I had already closed the door behind me.

“Shhhhhh!” I vigorously admonish her. “It’s only me, no need to be afraid!”

Molly doesn’t seem to hear me.

She has turned round and she’s gaping at me now as if she has never seen me before.

“Oh my…” I hear her whispering before turning her back on me and feverishly collecting all the papers spread on her desk. “What are you doing here!?”

I look at her with a puzzled frown. I can confess I’m a bit hurt by her reaction – I don’t feel very welcome right now. Suddenly my idea of both of us conspiring to discover the mysterious man’s identity crumbles like a house of cards.

“I had to tell you something and it couldn’t wait! Molly, you’ll never guess…”

“Stay where you are!”

I stop dead in my tracks. I’ve never heard so much authority before in her voice. Gone is the shy young woman who nevertheless offered me Victor’s portrait. Instead I’m facing a red-faced, wild-eyed woman who might as well be a complete stranger to me.

“Molly… Are you all right?”

She lets out a garbled sound while she’s trying to gather all her letters in her arms, paper crumpling in her fingers.

What is going on?

“Don’t come closer, Sherlock, I… You should never have come here!”

I’m about to retort in a very miffed voice that in this case, she should have locked her door, but something catches my eye.

Unseen by Molly, a sheet of paper has fallen to the rug. It has suffered a bit from her manhandling and therefore I can’t really make out what has been written on it, but I can glimpse very intriguing lines…

Is it a sketch? Has Molly drawn something she doesn’t want me to see?

I know I don’t have any right to snatch this paper and to open it, but curiosity wins me over and taking care not to be caught out by Molly, whose back is still to me, I quickly grasp it.

I open it out.

And it’s my turn to stare open-mouthed at what is unmistakably one of her creations.

It’s a drawing all right but one I never expected to find under my nose.

I goggle at it, completely mesmerized by the two men portrayed here.

I immediately recognized Blake and Harris from _the Patriots_.

They are inside the infirmary tent shown in the last episode, but in a position I’m quite sure _the Patriots’_ producers never intended for them to be found in.  

They’re both naked as the day they are born.

Blake is lying on his front, his face exposed to the viewer.

Sweat is beading on his brow, his mouth is open but he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. Or rather – this pain seems almost… pleasurable.

But it’s Harris who makes me gasp.

Or rather what he’s doing.

He is bent over Blake – William, as I remember – and he is…

My cheeks are suddenly flaming.

What the hell is he doing, with his face between…?

I don’t understand.

I suddenly glimpse, just below Molly’s sketch, some written lines.

 

_“First I want to hear you beg,” Stephen has whispered to him before nudging him forward._

_And he was certainly going to achieve it, William thought before letting the intense heat overwhelming him._

_“Steph… Oh!”_

_He has never experienced pleasure this strong before._

_He was aware he was whimpering at the scratch of Stephen’s beard on the tender flesh of his arse. When his lover finally spreads him open with his hands and kisses his hole, he cries out in spite of himself. And this diabolical tongue, pressed up against him, massaging before slipping inside…”_

 

“No!”

The paper is suddenly snatched from my hands, torn by Molly’s hand.

She’s staring at me, a mix of disbelief, anger and despair on her face I would find completely alarming if I was able to speak.

But I can’t.

The entwined figures of Blake and Harris are still before my eyes and these sentences… How could I ever forget them?

“You had no right.”

I blink.

Blink again.

Molly’s face comes again into focus.

She’s furious, that much is clear. But what jostles me from the trance I’ve fallen into are the tears in her eyes.

“Molly…”

“No. You had no right,” she’s almost growling at me, like a wild beast ready to pounce on the foolish intruder. “That was private, you understand? You don’t get to burst in on me and turn everything upside down for your pleasure!”

“You don’t understand, I….”

“I don’t care! Get out!”

“Molly…”

She bares her teeth at me.

“Get out! Out, out, out!”

I beat a hasty retreat, utterly nonplussed.

I barely have the time to see the door open that Molly pushes me out. I stumble against the wall.

“Don’t you ever come back here,” she spits out before closing the door with a muffled but very definite sound.

I remain alone in the dark, a stunned silence falling on me.

What exactly just happened?


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend to post another chapter so soon, but I was feeling inspired and encouraged by your comments, so here it is!

“Omega Sherlock?”

I jolt awake, instinctively drawing back from the hand which was hesitatingly squeezing my shoulder a moment before. I blink several times before my startled gaze meets the servant’s one. She immediately lowers her head, giving me a little bow.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mistress Ethel ordered me to bring your breakfast.”

Breakfast?

I sit up in my bed, whose rumpled sheets betray the very bad night I’ve had. I’m swearing aloud when I see through the window the sun already high in the sky while all events from yesterday choose that moment to come rushing back into my mind. I’ve overslept, I missed breakfast and especially the opportunity to talk to Molly.

Great.

The servant, who has taken back the breakfast tray in her hands, glances at me anxiously.

“Do you want… ?”

“Yes, please,” I break her off. “Put it down over there,” I say, nodding at the dressing table in front of the bed, whose mirror is currently showing my annoyed face.

I barely hear the door closing behind the servant; I slowly get up, stretching up with a jaw-popping yawn. What an awful night. I’ve fretted over the incident with Molly for hours, pacing round my room, my mind going around in circles. I was unable to calm down and even more to forget what I’ve just seen.

The sketched shapes of Blake and Harris having…making…

Goodness.

I can’t think of that anymore.

I must talk to Molly. Discover why she’s doing this, why she’s taking so much risk in depicting two Alphas like this.

Two Alphas locked in an embrace which was passionate – _forbidden_ – sensual – _sacrilegious –_ voluptuous – _perfectly appalling, horrible, disgusting!_

“Stop it!” I cry out.

Only silence answers me.

I catch my reflection in the mirror – tangled hair, dark circles around my eyes, corners of my mouth turned down.

And my mood doesn’t improve when I sat down to breakfast and glimpse on the tray a written note lying against my cup of Wish Tree tea.

“ _Sherlock,_

_Your absence from the breakfast table this morning has been noticed. I have exceptionally allowed you to sleep a little while longer than necessary, since you clearly seemed to need it, but do make sure it won’t happen again in the future. As you well know, idleness is a sin in the eyes of our Father Above and I won’t tolerate this behaviour under my roof._

_Have a good day._

_Ethel_.”

I fight the temptation to tear this hateful message to pieces. Apart from venting my anger upon it, it won’t solve anything.

I empty my cup of tea in two gulps and try to swallow down a dry bit of toast. I do not listen to my stomach rumbling his hunger. It will have to wait. First I’m going to see Molly and ask her for an explanation.

* * *

 

Easier said than done, since it turns out that my future sister-in-law – at least if Victor is ever allowed to leave the Chancellor’s bedside – is taking great pains to avoid me. As soon as I glimpse her white-and-blue dress or the dark coil of her hair tied in a very proper bun, she walks away, doing her best to keep her distance from me while looking like she’s behaving in perfectly normal way in the servants’ eyes. Even though Ethel has left the mansion for her “laboratory” – and no doubt meeting there again the mysterious man I’ve spotted yesterday at the top of the hill – there’s no escaping the staff’s vigilance. I don’t doubt that, if I attempt to corner Molly in the house and that we do so much as raising our voices, the incident will be immediately reported to Ethel.

And I can’t afford it.

Especially not when I intend to crack the case as regards the stranger who has obviously found refuge in her house.

 So I grit my teeth and I try to follow Molly, looking like I’ve just come across her and isn’t that a pleasant surprise?

It’s an exhausting game and my former confidant is much too skilled for me to win this particular competition. I’m guessing she has had quite a few years to hone her abilities to go unnoticed when she wants to be and I can’t simply hope to match up to her in this regard.

Therefore, when the dinner bell is rung, I walk to the dining room with a sore head and my stomach about to rebel against his owner.

We sit at the table in a heavy silence. In front of me, Molly seems determined not to meet my gaze, to my great disappointment. Ethel, who has just come back from her house, is impatiently waiting for her husband to join us, which he does a moment later, slipping in his seat like a dark ghost.

I do my best not to let my annoyance show on my face as Ethel breaks into her usual round of prayers in a monotonous voice. Servants come and go with a familiar discretion, putting down full plates before us, making sure nothing is missing, before waiting for us to finish our meal.

On most days, the whole ceremony – us pretending we’re having a family meal as if it was a choice rather than a chore, while being served by this black-and-white silent army – threatens to bore me to tears but tonight it’s simply excruciating.

I can’t wait to get out of this room, escaping this stiff atmosphere and…

“I receive a letter from my old friend, Alpha Connington, today.”

I turn my head to the left so quickly I fear some whiplash injury to my neck. To my right I hear Ethel nearly choking on her spoonful of soup and Molly lets out a small gasp.

All three of us are staring at the man who has spoken without being prompted to. His face doesn’t betray his feelings. As if it was a common occurrence for him to take part in the discussion going on around this table.

Of course, Ethel is the first to gather her wits, wiping delicately her mouth with her napkin while taking a suspicious glance at her husband.

“Did you now?” she replies. “It has been a long time since he has written to you.”

“Indeed. But I’m afraid he only has some dreadful news to pass on to me.”

I focus all my attention on my meal while avidly listening to Victor’s father. Wondering which kind of news has pushed him into breaking his silence.

Ethel gives a high-pitched laugh.

“In this case, my dear, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to…”

“He says we’re losing this war.”

My front teeth painfully collide with my spoon as scalding liquid trickles down my throat. I try to smother my resulting cough into my napkin with very little success. No doubt the mess I’m making would be worth a first-class scolding by my future mother-in-law if she wasn’t so busy staring speechless at her husband, mouth slightly agape.

In other circumstances, it would have secretly thrilled me to see such an appalled look on her face, but I have no time to enjoy it, since Alpha Trevor chooses this moment to raise his head in my direction.

He looks at me.

And at this moment, as our gazes meet for what it seems to me the very first time, I take back everything I have thought until now about this silent, seemingly insignificant man.

I can see an overwhelming wave of grief and anger welling up in his eyes, yet his voice remains unperturbed as he says

“I was very sorry to hear about your father passing. We fought alongside each other during the first war. He was a brave man.”

I hear Ethel taking a deep breath on my right. It doesn’t augur well for the rest of the dinner, a tiny part of my mind muses. The other, larger part remains completely frozen, unable to process why this strange man, who has merely ignored me since I’ve set foot inside his house, has decided to speak to me now.

Telling me about my father.

I swallow heavily.

I croak a “Thank you” but Alpha Trevor pretends not to hear it as he goes on.

“I’m sorry if you feel offended by my saying this, Omega Holmes, but no man should be forced to be left confined in bed for months, waiting for the inevitable. And once again I’m really saddened that your father ever had to endure this.”

I barely hear Ethel’s shout – “Enough!” – or her husband’s final retort as he stands up, throwing his napkin on the table – “You’re right, my dear, as always. It’s _enough_.”

He slams the door behind him, bringing this discussion – or rather his monologue – to a close.

I close my eyes.

I feel numb, sitting in that uncomfortable chair.

A familiar mix of stormy feelings is tearing me apart.

Pain and grief as I remember how my father died – alone, terrified, deprived of all his strength.

Anger that once again I feel badly used by people who were supposed to be close to me and to care for me while in truth they don’t seem able to spare a thought for me, drawing me in a game where I ignore the rules, hurting my feelings in the process.

Don’t I have the right to be respected? To be around people who might enjoy my company, making me laugh? To feel appreciated and loved?

“Sherlock?”

I open my eyes.

Molly and I are alone in the dining room.

I don’t know where Ethel has gone off and in truth I don’t really care.

I feel old.

And so very alone.

Molly’s eyes are brimming with sympathy as she whispers “I’m truly sorry.”

“Not your fault,” I mumble.

She seems to understand that I don’t feel very keen on talking – and it’s truly ironic when you think I spent my afternoon looking for an opportunity to speak to her. She bites her lower lip in a gesture which is slowly becoming familiar to me before getting up from her chair and making her way to me.

“Come on,” she simply says and I obey like a puppet whose strings have been pulled. She gently takes my arm. “I’ll order tea, you’re going to feel much better.”

I can’t help but smile at her motherly tone, as if I was a child in need of comfort.

“Are you also going to tell me a story?” I reply in a teasing voice.

I feel Molly stiffening beside me and I’m suddenly reminded of our tiff last night.

“Molly, I… I didn’t mean anything by it. Let’s just forget it, all right?”

I look away, determined not to blast any chance I might have to patch things up with her.

“No, it’s okay.”

I glance at her, surprised at her words. She gives me a quick wink.

“I have indeed a story to tell you.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter - past dubious consent/violence. Nothing major - at least I tried to - but it needed to be said.

Twenty minutes later, tea has been served and the door is closed behind the servant who has just brought us the tray. I breathe in happily the hot liquid’s aroma – for once, it is not the bittersweet fragrance of the Wish Tree, but the sharp, clean scent of mint.

Molly and I have found refuge in my room – she sits down in the armchair next to the window as I settle down at the end of the bed.

We drink in silence for a little while, enjoying the glorious sunset outside as well as the desolate cries of the seagulls. I should give them tomorrow a whole leaf to make up for my absence tonight, I think.

“Would you like to talk about what happened down there?” Molly finally asks in a hesitant voice.

I shake my head. I really don’t want to think about Alpha Trevor’s troubling words. I’m quite sure he had a hidden agenda in saying all this, but whether he wanted to retaliate upon his wife for her overbearing manner or for another reason, he has no right to use me or my father as he did.

I glance at her while I say “If you don’t mind… I would like to hear your story.”

A shadow of a smile blooms on her lips as she slowly puts down again her cup in the saucer, eliciting a delicate clink from the porcelain.

“I thought you might say this.”

She takes a deep breath before looking me in the eye.

“You have to promise me you won’t breathe a word about this to anyone. I’m not the only one involved and…”

“What do you mean?” I frown. “There are others who also… ?”

I wave my hand in a nondescript gesture that Molly readily understands, fortunately for me and my lack of vocabulary as I’m reminded of the sketch I’ve found in her room. I feel my cheeks colouring a little as she raises an eyebrow.

“Why do you think I receive so much correspondence, hum?”

I can’t help but stare at her, aghast at the idea that she and her friends are exchanging such letters in such an open way. Don’t they realize that their correspondence might be opened by anyone? They would get into so much trouble for this!

“Oh, by the Father Above, don’t look at me like this, Sherlock! I’m not a fool and neither are my friends. We write our stories in code so that if a stranger ever comes across them, he won’t suspect anything.”

“Oh.”

I feel a little stupid not to have figured that one out before.

“That’s why you were spending so much time in your room, then. Deciphering their letters and writing stories of your own… But what about the drawings?”

Molly flushes a little.

“They’re all mine. None of the others can draw.”

Goodness. To think that not only she imagines two men in such a position, but also that she draws them like this…

Molly starts fidgeting with a handkerchief, not meeting my gaze, before breaking the silence.

“Do you still want to know…?”

“Yes, of course!”

More than ever, I could add.

“And you promise you won’t tell anyone?”

Her voice is vibrant with alarm as she goes on.

“If this is discovered…”

I don’t need for her to say the words aloud, I can perfectly imagine that Molly and her friends would land in jail if the Watchers’ Office ever gets their hands on their stories.

They might even find themselves under lock and key at Stonewall, like this John Watson I’ve heard of the night I was running away from Mycroft. A shiver runs down my spine, yet my voice doesn’t falter when I answer “I do promise, Molly. You can trust me.”

And I’m pleased to see in her dark eyes, for the first time since she threw me out of her room yesterday, a glint of her usual mischief.

“Very well, then. Let’s start.”

* * *

 

 “I’ve been Bonded for six months months when we first got the idea.”

I see her face growing sombre and I feel a pang of unease in my heart. Deep down, I knew that if Molly ever evoked her brief Bonding time with her husband, her tale wasn’t going to be all roses and sunshine. I clench the coverlet under me in my hands as I brace myself for her story.

“I… It wasn’t…”

She abruptly stops, heaving a sigh. To my horror, I see her eyes glistening with unshed tears before she looks away.

“Molly…”

“Don’t. Please.”

She swallows hard, taking a deep breath.

“I wasn’t happy. At first glance, Norman looks like the perfect husband-to-be. A nice, charming man and I immediately found him very handsome. And I seemed to suit his taste as well, as I soon discovered it once we were in his bedroom. He was… very passionate, a hot-blooded Alpha as they say and I happily complied with his wishes.”

We are both very red in the face and pretending not to notice it. Molly clears her throat.

“The problem was… He wanted to do it all the time. He said I was his little darling, his joy, I belonged to him and didn’t I want to make him happy?”

She breaks off before resuming in a strained voice

“To this day I can still feel his hands on me, his lips on my skin. It was… disgusting. I started to be repelled by him. And the more I attempted to avoid him and his lust, the more he forced his attentions on me. One night, I got my period. I was pretty desperate at this point, Norman was looking at me more than ever, already wondering why I wasn’t falling pregnant. As we left the table, he pinched my waist. He clearly wanted to… Well. And I said no. When he asked why, I made the mistake of telling him the reason. He became furious. Gone were the sweet words, the smiles and the pleading eyes. I saw the man he truly was and I was terrified. I started to run away, hoping to lock myself in the bathroom until he has calmed down, but he caught me up. He said I’ve betrayed him. I had deceived him, I’ve lied to him and now I was going to pay.”

I can’t stand to remain silent.

“Molly…”

She raises a hand.

“No. I’ve never told anyone else yet and… It must be said. I need to say it. He… hit me. He beat me. He would have killed me if a servant hasn’t barged into the room. She screamed and in doing so she saved my life.”

I want to find this Norman and do to him the same thing he has done to Molly.

I want to go to her and take her in my arms, promising her that no one would ever hurt her again.

We stare at each other and she must read on my face everything I cannot say because I don’t know if I have the right to do so. She doesn’t say a word, she just holds out her hand. I take hers in mine and we remain like this, united by our joined hands, as if that single skin on skin contact could erase everything which has happened to us.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry,” Molly says after a moment. “I have rather spoiled the mood, haven’t I?”

“You haven’t spoiled anything. And if you don’t want to go on with this story…”

She shakes her head, gently getting free.

“I won’t stop. Not now that we are getting to the best part!” she answers with a smile which is still a bit strained, but which seems genuine enough to me.

I suddenly blink when she strikes a match and lights a candle. I was so engrossed in Molly’s story I didn’t become aware of the nightfall. The little glow seems to cast a softness around us, which has been sorely missing until now.

Molly nestles again in her seat.

“After this Norman left me alone. I don’t know if he was feeling guilty or if I wasn’t simply worth his efforts in his eyes. He never said and I didn’t want to know. I learned afterwards he has already set his heart on another younger Omega and was thinking to repudiate me. Once I was healed – or at least there were no more visible marks on my face – I attended again the Coven meetings. In the meantime, the Coven’s leader has fallen pregnant and she was suffering from terrible morning sickness. The doctor called by her Alpha told her she was going to lose her baby if she didn’t stay in bed. Besides, he advised her to avoid any kind of pastime which could upset her child. So the Coven was left leaderless. I don’t know any more who first suggested to write stories as a way to entertain us during these endless meetings.”

A mischievous smile suddenly blooms on her lips, her eyes merrily glint and she seems like a young girl again, unmarred by life.

“But I perfectly remember when the first story depicting heroes of former DreamSeries was told to us. It was a RyStel story…”

“A what?”

“Don’t you remember the DreamSeries about these Alphas competing with each other for the Bond of the beautiful Omega Maresi?”

“Not really,” I shrug. “Dreams are not really my cup of tea.”

Molly gives me a quick smile of apology.

“Anyway, it was about two men named Ryan Low, a Watcher agent fighting against this Unmarked gang, and his rival, Stellan Ness. A RyStel story in short.”

“And instead of pitting them against one another, you make them…”

 Once again the sketch of Blake and Harris is dancing before my eyes. I can feel my cheeks flushing and I silently curse my pale skin.

Molly seems puzzled at first by my interruption before laughing heartily when she understands what I’m thinking of.

“Not at first, of course! I was already shocked enough when Omega Davis imagined their first kiss!”

Questions are suddenly buzzing in my mind and I can’t help but ask what I consider the most important ones.

“How did the others react? And how weren’t you all given away to the Watchers’ Office?”

“I guess we were very lucky,” Molly whispers, growing serious once again. “It was a small Coven, mind you, only half a dozen members. We were all waiting for the Watchers’ Office to appoint us a new leader or to order us to join another larger Coven. We must have thought it wasn’t so alarming if one of us went beyond our society’s standards in imagining two Alphas in love with each other. Besides, it was sexy as hell.”

“Molly!” I gasp out.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Sherlock!” she retorts. “Don’t forget I’ve seen your face when you came across my sketch of Blake and Harris in my room, you certainly seemed interested enough.”

“I was shocked! I never…”

“Never?” Molly repeats, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “And what did you think was going to happen between you and my brother if he had been there for the Bonding Ceremony?”

“I…”

I’m left speechless and even worse, terribly embarrassed. My whole face is burning and I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.

“Oh, Sherlock,” Molly whispers in a gentler tone. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable…”

A bit too late for this, I think, still looking down at my hands in my lap. Mercifully, Molly seems to understand as she drops this particular subject.

“You asked me how the others reacted. Truth is, some of them were disgusted and didn’t want to hear of that anymore but the majority was curious. And it soon became a game between us. One started a story, the other carried on with it…”

I take a peek at her behind one large lock of hair.

“And you took part in this as well?”

Molly winks.

“I was drawing.”

She softly laughs when I lower my head again.

“I didn’t think much of it at first, but as it went on, I started to like my works more and more. To create all these drawings, to see the other Omegas appreciating them… It was good for me. It gave me a confidence I needed and even after I was repudiated and sent back here, to my mother’s utter shame, I promised myself I won’t give up this. So the correspondence started, we established a code between us and there it was, a very secret until you discovered it.”

“I never intended to!” I protest.

“I know,” Molly answers in a soothing tone. “Now that you know the whole story, Sherlock, it’s my turn to ask you…”

Something in her voice intrigues me enough I look up at her. Molly’s grin seems suddenly suspicious to me. A feeling which is confirmed when she says

“Would you like to read one of _our_ stories?”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very dear to me, as I wrote it down to pay tribute to every fanfiction writer I've ever had the pleasure to read.  
> Ladies, gentlemen, you all rock. Thank you for your hard work and your wonderful ideas.
> 
> And now, readers - are you ready for a little piece of smut? :)

Of course I said yes.

How could I have replied otherwise? It would have been unthinkable to do so.

I’ve been much too curious about what I’ve found in Molly’s room the night before to deny myself the opportunity to discover _more_.

It doesn’t mean that I’m not frightened by it. I eye the neat little pile that Molly has put down on my bed.

“I have much more, but those are really my favourite. And the Father Above helps you if I find one stain, one corner turned down or…”

“Yes, yes, I understand, I won’t damage your precious stories!”

“You better be!”

And she left me, laughingly recommending me to use the hand lotion made by Ethel herself and that she offered to me as a gift a week ago “when I would be too bothered”.

I don’t understand what she means by that.

I shrug it off, focusing instead my attention of these pages quietly waiting for me. Written up in Molly’s neat handwriting, numbered and bound together with a sturdy piece of string, they seem completely innocuous.

But I know better – at least if Molly’s story can be believed.

I sit on the coverlet, stretching out my arm, ready to throw myself into this unknown world when a memory rushes back to my mind in a flash.

Being alone with James in this disused classroom, contemplating together the picture of Cohn, first of his Name, ascending to heaven after his death, his glorious nakedness revealed to me. The flash of heat in my belly, James’ voice in my ear.

But, after that, I never saw James again, didn’t I?

I back away.

Which kind of folly am I about to commit? How can I even think of reading these stories which would elicit horrified gasps as well as cries of disgust if they were discovered? They should be burned and their ashes scattered instead of being read and shared by Omegas who should know better!

They are not allowed to write or even to imagine things like that, everyone knows it. I’m reminded of Miss Leech’s shrill voice in the classroom, telling us that “Omegas have no other duty than to please and serve their Alpha.”

It’s the law, it’s the basis of our society, how could they even imagine otherwise?

I realize I’m short of breath and that my heart is pounding in my chest. I should turn away from all this before it’s too late, give these stories back to Molly, forget everything I’ve seen.

My duty is to wait for Victor’s return and when he’ll be there, being everything he has ever wanted in a spouse.

Nothing else.

_And what did you think was going to happen between you and my brother if he had been there for the Bonding Ceremony?_

I groan aloud as Molly’s words come back to me, throwing down a challenge to me I’m not sure I can ignore. Maybe these stories, as disgusting as they’ll doubtless turn out to be, contain a kernel of truth as regards something about which I’ve been left in the dark all my life – sex between males.

Sex.

Just to think of this word… A flush is creeping up my cheeks.

And I know nothing about it.

How could an Unclaimed, untouched, unkissed Omega like myself ever hope to please and serve his Alpha when he’ll finally come back to me?

Maybe these stories are a blessing in disguise.

Maybe they’ll help me.

I take a deep breath as I sit down again on the bed, looking at the temptation lying just in front of me. It’s time to take a risk.

* * *

 

_“What should I spare your life?” the Native chief spat out. “If you were in my stead, would you spare mine?”_

_He let out a wild laugh, the flame of his torch casting a golden light on his brown skin._

_“I don’t think so.”_

_Stephen got a nasty retort on the tip of his tongue, but before he could open his mouth, William beat him to it._

_“You can hurt me as much as you want. Kill me, I don’t care. But please…”_

_Stephen drew a sharp breath. He has never heard his lover begging in such a voice, even in their most intimate moments when Stephen liked to tease him until there were tears in William’s eyes._

_“Don’t hurt him. I won’t stand it.”_

 

Goodness. Reading this makes me very happy that Molly and her friends used a secret code to send their letters. Any man getting his hands on a story where Alphas are begging Natives for their life… I do not dare thinking of his reaction.

I heave a great sigh before closing my eyes and rubbing them.

I wonder which time it is now. Outside, everything is quiet and dark. I hear no noise, nothing to divert my attention from the fascinating fiction I’m reading now. I’m getting tired, my eyes are itching and the reasonable thing to do would be to turn off the light and getting to sleep, but I can’t.

I simply can’t.

I can’t stop reading this story, which seems familiar and strange at the same time.

I can tell the author is quite skilled, she has effortlessly drawn me into her universe, where her Blake and Harris look very much like their “official” counterparts in the DreamSeries except for the fact they are lovers.

And it’s slowly changing everything about them, challenging their worldview, starting with the Natives tribe who has taken them prisoners.

 

_“You think my life isn’t worth yours, then?” Nzinga asked._

_“I don’t assume, I know it!” Stephen hotly replied._

_“Why? Because you have a Mark on your forehead and I don’t? Because you’re white-skinned and I’m not?” She suddenly smiles at him – a razor-sharp crescent moon shining in her dark face. “Or because I don’t have that little bit of meat you have between my legs?”_

 

I can’t help but chuckle at the cheeky tone of the Native woman. To imagine a woman talking like this to an Alpha… It’s unthinkable.

I ignore the little pang I feel in my heart at this idea and I go on.

 

_“Relief swamped William’s heart as he saw Stephen rushing to his side. He was barely aware that his lips moved around the name of his lover. Stephen knelt down next to him. His hands brushed hotly against William’s face, fingertips beautifully tender at the edge of scrapes and bruises._

_“Oh, William, love… What did you do?”_

Tears are pricking my eyes and I try to swallow around the lump in my throat as I see the lovers being reunited. The comfort they are able to give to each other, the tenderness of their words and especially this feeling that together they can face anything move me more deeply than I’m willing to admit it.

As the lovers strike a risky deal with the Natives for their freedom, I know I won’t be able to put down that story until its very end.

 

_“Tell me what you want,” Stephen whispered in his ear. “Tell me, love.”_

_William’s eyes shut in surrender, his heart racing in his chest. How long has he yearned for this – Stephen’s skin on his, every one of his words suffused with affection? He didn’t know anymore. He angled his head and pressed his lips to Stephen’s cheek in a chaste skin._

_“You. I want you, Stephen. Make me yours.”_

 

I realize I’m slowly stroking my chest, my thumb moving back and forth on my nipple through my shirt. I hasten to stop – What am I doing, exactly?

 

_He didn't even think; he simply reached out, pulled William forward, and kissed him. Their lips slid together and Stephen swiped the tip of his tongue against William’s lower lip. Though it wasn't the first time they'd kissed each other, it was the first time it had been like this: real, honest, and uncertain. A soft moan escaped William’s mouth as his lips parted under Stephen’s tongue._

Tendrils of heat are creeping up my back, my legs. My breath is coming in short gasps. My clothes feel suddenly too tight. I turn on my side, hoping to find a more comfortable position this way.

 

_William realized he was completely gone on this man._

_He imagined himself flat on his back on the camp bed, Stephen’s mouth on his, his hands stroking him everywhere._

_Offered. Ready to be taken._

_He wanted this like he has never wanted anything else before._

_Accepting this extraordinary man’s touch, his claim on him._

_For a disturbing second the disgusting words his father used to hurl at him just before hitting him resurfaced._

_“No Alpha of mine will be a dirty cocksucker, you hear me?”_

_But now, they didn’t have the power to hurt him anymore. To make him feel guilty._

_Go to hell, Dad, William thought._

 

I wonder if my father used to think the same thing when he looked at me – his little male Omega. His odd child.

The thought springs unbidden to my mind.

_Does it matter? He’s dead, he got no more power on you._

For a moment, I forget to breathe.

Waiting for the guilt to rush back to my mind, spearing my soul.

It never comes.

 

_He has barely set foot in the tent he shared with his lover that Stephen embraced him from behind, pulling him against his chest and planting a series of hard, little kisses on any part of William’s face he could reach – his cheek, his brow, his jaw, the corner of his lips._

_“Where do you think you’re going?” he teasingly whispered._

_Nowhere, William thought, moving his hips in a slow, sensuous roll. He let out a loud groan when he felt the hard, rigid line of Stephen’s cock, still imprisoned in his impeccably ironed trousers, against the small of his back._

_“In your bed, I hope.”_

_“Don’t know if we’ll make it.”_

_William felt Stephen’s hand under his chin, tilting his face up. He took his mouth in an open-mouthed, toe-curling kiss. Tongues stroking each other, in a filthy, feverish dance of passion and lust._

_William couldn’t help whimpering when he felt his lover’s hand so close to his hard cock._

_Stephen broke the kiss, licking and teasing the soft skin of William’s neck with little nips of his teeth._

_“I could bend you right now on the first surface available and you would let me take you, wouldn’t you?”_

 

A whimper suddenly echoes in my room and I’m horrified when I realize it has come from my mouth. I sit up… and I let out a small gasp. I stare at my crotch. At the bulge distorting the trousers’ fabric.

I’m hard.

Hard and leaking, as I can feel wetness spreading in my pants.

I lie down again, trying to will it away. I always managed it before when it happened, it shouldn’t be a problem. I just have to think of something else than this… much too arousing story for my own good. I close my eyes, but all I can see is two men making love to each other.

Strokingkissingfondlingbiting…

I smother a groan.

And I bitterly curse my curiosity.

 

_“I want to fuck you.” Stephen’s voice is low in his ear, filled with dark promise._

_“Please,” William wasn’t ashamed to beg at this point._

_It seemed it was all Stephen was waiting for. He withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the head of his cock. His push, when it came, was soft, steady and slick. Stephen’s cock was thick, the slide of it filling William in a way that’s simultaneously too much and yet completely satisfying._

_When he was fully buried inside, Stephen stopped._

_“You all right?”_

_“I’ve never been more all right in my life,” William whispered, heart soaring in his chest._

 

I’m panting.

My hand slips under the waistband of my trousers.

I want to…

I want to do something I have never done before.

My whole body is begging for it.

I’ve lost this battle, I think, as I hastily get undressed. I nearly weep with relief when I’m nude with no more pressure on my erect cock.

I’m going to do it, I’m thinking, my hands trembling with excitement while they move away Molly’s stories. I only keep this page that I hold out in front of me – the last page of the story who has triggered the whole thing. I kneel down on the bed.

My hand instinctively finds my penis.

And I know I won’t ever forget the sound who just comes from my parted lips.

 

_They were both absorbed in the feel of Stephen beginning to move within him, slowly at first as his lover’s body adjusted to him, then steadily faster and faster. The feeling of Stephen’s thighs against the backs of his, of his right hand gripping and stroking William’s cock from beneath him was shockingly intimate, to say nothing of the feel of Stephen’s cock within his body, harder than rock, but warm, so very warm. This is more than sex, William thought. This is love._

 

Love.

I close my eyes.

And let it go.

My hand is a blur on my penis, it’s raw, it hurts a little but it’s good, so very good I can’t stop.

Tears are slowly running down my cheeks.

In my mind, the Room I created since I was a child is literally overflown with all these new images, this sensory overload. Little sharp cries are escaping from my mouth.

Pleasepleaseplease…

Pleasure is rising, engulfing me in its arms, swallowing me whole.

I can’t stop.

I’m so close, so close…

My hips are snapping forward.

My orgasm crashes over me, waves as powerful as the ones down there on the beach.

I’m lost.

I forget everything – right now, I’m flying.

In this moment of white-hot pleasure, the last words I’ve read remain engraved on my mind.

This is more than sex.

This is love.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, 
> 
> The good news first - I've reached the halfway mark of this story, at least according to the plan I've drawn up. Hurrrah! And a very BIG thank you to all of you - I couldn't have done it without your support <3  
> I think this calls for a celebration of sorts and that's why I finally give you in this chapter... the truth as regards the identity of the mysterious man! I think you will like it :)  
> The bad news... No, I'm kidding, there's no bad news!   
> Enjoy!

As I slip in the dining room for breakfast, Molly takes one look at me before an insufferable – at least in my opinion – grin creases her lips.

“I guess you had a good night’s sleep?”

I try to give her my best glare but it’s difficult not to give in to her infectious good mood – even if it’s at my expense.

And it gets even worse when I can’t repress a slight grimace as I sit down. Molly chokes on her gulp of tea, her gaze brimming with impish glee.

I cross my arms over my chest.

“Will you stop it!” I hiss.

“Sorry,” Molly replies in a tone which doesn’t sound apologetic at all. “But I did tell you to use your hand lotion…”

A light flush spreads across my face as I look down at my empty plate. I feel my lips curling up into a smile and soon we’re both sniggering like naughty children.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up!”

A childish exchange which is nipped in the bud as soon as the door is briskly opened by Ethel, followed by two servants, their arms full of trays and baskets. My stomach growls its approval when the delicious smell of freshly baked bread wafts out in the air.

“Good morning, my children,” Ethel says, sitting down at the table. “Sherlock, you look awful. Do you have trouble falling asleep?”

I look up at her, taking one glance at the dark rings under her eyes, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to retort something my future mother-in-law would surely consider as completely impertinent, but I change my mind at the last minute.

I’m still determined to discover the identity of the stranger I glimpsed on the hill two days before and if I want to go around on Victory Island unnoticed, angrily bickering with Ethel right now isn’t going to help me. Besides, something is obviously bothering her this morning and it does not concern me, judging from her lack of attention when I mumble something unintelligible in answer.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Molly throwing an anxious look at her.

“Are you all right, Mother?”

Ethel visibly startles before trying to collect herself.

“Yes, of course, don’t be silly.”

She pauses to take a sharp breath, as if she just made up her mind about what is upsetting her.

“I have received yesterday an invitation to dinner…”

“Oh! Are we going out then?” Molly breaks her off, already smiling at this prospect.

Ethel’s barking “No!” takes us by surprise. I grind my teeth when Molly flinches, lowering her head. Is this woman incapable of being nice for even a second?

A heavy silence settles on us, making me squirm in my chair. I do not dare looking up as excitement is coursing through my veins. If Ethel is away tonight, Molly and I may have a chance of slipping outside and rushing to her house – after I’ve explained to her what I’ve seen, of course.

“I’m sorry,” Ethel finally says in a strained voice and this single word is enough to make me raise my head and goggle at her for a minute. Fortunately, she’s not aware of this, as she’s looking at some invisible spot on the wall. “But the invitation was addressed to me personally and I…I will give orders to the servants for dinner.”

She abruptly gets up and walks away, not even turning her head when Molly wishes her a good day.

I can’t believe she left us alone.

It’s a golden opportunity that I have every intent to seize.

Unaware of my increasing agitation, Molly breaks the silence while buttering the bun on her plate

“It must have been sent by the Chancellor’s office. They do this sometimes, dispatching an official to check up on her and see if everything’s all right… A true waste of time, if you want my opinion, my mother is nothing but loyal to… Hey!”

I ignore her protest, having jumped out of my seat and rushed to her side. I lean in to whisper in her ear

“What would you say if I told you your mother isn’t as perfect as you think?”

* * *

 

My accusation has had the desired effect – Molly didn’t hesitate to leave the rest of her breakfast in her plate, following me out of the dining room and straight to the southern terrace, where I’m sure no one will disturb us at this hour.

A puzzled frown crosses her face as she sits down next to me on the bench.

“I don’t know where you’re going with all this, but…”

“Hush,” I say, interrupting her. “Let me tell you exactly why I’ve gone up to your room two nights ago.”

With a briefness which surprises even me, I relate everything – my lonely walk along the beach, how I found myself at the foot of the hill without meaning to and finally the man who has come out of Ethel’s house at this moment, without forgetting the fact that he bolted as soon as he glimpsed me.

Molly’s eyes are as big as saucers by the time I’ve finished.

“So, what do you think?” I ask with a light triumphant air. All the sex I’ve read this night must have had a deeper impact on my mind than I thought, because I hear myself saying

“Maybe he’s her lover, after all!” before it makes me cringe with embarrassment.

What a thing to say to Molly!

But she doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. Instead of the angry outburst I was afraid of, she shakes her head, a disbelieving expression on her features.

“No, that’s not possible.”

She raises a hand when she sees me ready to protest.

“Wait a minute. I don’t doubt you have indeed seen someone on the hill, but you don’t know my mother like I did. She’ll never step out of line, especially to do something which has been strictly forbidden by our Father Above. Adultery is a deadly sin – at least for Omegas.”

I have to admit it makes sense.

“Besides,” Molly resumes, “religion is everything to my mother.”

“Isn’t it rather her scientific mind?” I object, eyebrows raised when Molly shakes her head again. “She did invent the Wish Tree extraction method, after all!”

“Of course she did. But she staunchly believed that she got the Father Above’s blessing to thank for this. She would never have succeeded if he hasn’t inspired her with the necessary intelligence to discover this method. (She shrugs.) It certainly wasn’t in school that she learned all the basic knowledge to do this.”

If we had more time, I would have liked to ask her how she is so well informed about her mother’s beliefs, especially since Ethel isn’t the most talkative person in the world, but I have other priorities.

“How do you explain the man’s presence, then? Could it be a servant…?”

“No. It’s impossible. Mother never allowed them to set foot in her house, she prefers to look after it herself.”

A silence falls between us.

I know what I want to say, it’s the next logical step. But something keeps me from stating it aloud – is Molly going to accept?

As if she could read my mind, she turns her head to me, her dark gaze intent on me.

“You want us to go there and see for ourselves, don’t you?”   

I dodge her direct question, preferring instead to reply

“You asked me to trust you when you give me your stories to read and I did. Now it’s my turn – are you going to follow me?”

Molly gives me a charming smile.

“Sherlock Holmes, you little devil, are you trying to manipulate me?”

“It depends,” I reply with a grin. “Is it working?”

Her laugh is the only answer I need.

* * *

 

After a day which has seemed endless to me – fortunately, Molly has other stories for me to discover. And for my modesty’s sake, they were less explicit than the one I’ve been engrossed in this night – we finally spot Ethel climbing into the only carriage allowed on Victory Island. We have both found refuge in Molly’s room, which has the best view of the path directly leading to the harbour. Her mysterious host must stay on a ship lying at anchor nearby. We wait a little, just to be sure she hasn’t forgotten something, before looking at each other, a mischievous smile on our lips.

It’s finally time to solve this mystery!

* * *

 

The sun is quickly setting, the wind is blowing wild and free in our faces and I have never felt as excited as I am now – well, except for last night, but it was different. Whereas I have sought the pleasures of the flesh, now it’s the pleasure of the mind I’m looking forward to experience. Walking beside me, Molly remains silent and I’m quite sure the same thought is going around in our minds – if we get caught out, we will indeed land in trouble, not only with Ethel but also with the man – an Alpha, no doubt about it – we’re going to flush out from his lair.

I don’t know what’s going to happen then.

The price for my burning curiosity may be too high to pay.

For a second, I’m almost tempted to turn to my friend and cancel the whole thing.

But the reasonable voice piping up in my mind is soon silenced by the heady rush of enthusiasm running through my veins.

And I just can’t resist.

* * *

 

“It’s open,” Molly whispers in amazement as she softly pushes the door.

As soon as we set foot inside, stale air gets in my throat till I’m afraid I’ll sneeze. I don’t know how Ethel is looking after her house, but I’m quite sure she doesn’t observe the same standards as the servants working in the Trevors’ mansion. Molly lights the only candle we have dared bringing with us for our journey. The soft glow of the flame reveals a drab, colourless interior – everything is black or brown, from the rug softening our footsteps to the fabric covering the armchairs. I’m reminded of the days just after my father has died, when Violet and I went into mourning, and it sends shivers down my spine. It seems we’re trespassing on a shadowy world, which doesn’t augur well.

At the end of the long corridor we have taken, Molly tries a door. Then another.

Both are closed and locked.

There’s no other way in.

She’s cursing under her breath as I’m on the watch, listening for any sound which might filter through the walls.

Nothing – only the silence as deep as the grave.

“What are we doing now?” Molly asks me.

Very good question. We seem to have reached a dead end and once again, I’m tempted to walk out of the house with the firm intention of never going back inside.

I’m about to suggest it to Molly when something on the wall just in front of me catches my attention.

“Give me the candle,” I whisper.

She obeys and I raise the little flame to better examine what is looking like a bulge distorting the wallpaper.

I stretch out my hand, exploring it with my fingertips.

I startle when instead of the soft, fading paper, I find cold metal.

A door handle cleverly hidden in plain sight.

My heart starts pounding violently in my chest. I glance at Molly, who is staring open-mouthed at this hidden access.

Time for truth – are we going inside? Or do we turn on our heels, afraid of what could be waiting for us on the other side?

I don’t know how long we stand rooted on the spot, uncertainty warring against the need to know in our gazes, but Molly finally takes the plunge.

She lifts the latch.

* * *

 

The door is heavier than it looks and it takes a great deal of effort to push it open as silently as we can. I directly see the change – while the house might at first look abandoned and neglected, someone is clearly living in this part of the building.

A stained shirt is lying in the stairs just in front of us and there’s a sharp, irritating odour wafting up in the air.

I’m about to climb on the first step when we hear it – someone coughing up upstairs.

I stand still, transfixed by this very real proof that the stranger I saw the other day wasn’t an illusion. Molly looks as white as a ghost and I’m quite sure I have blanched too.

I don’t know which kind of impulse nudges me forward at this moment, but I find myself climbing up, step after step. The wood groans and creak under my weight.

A gasp echoes in the stairs, followed by a furious hushed discussion.

Is he talking to himself or are there several persons?

My breathing is loud, but I don’t care anymore.

We’ve been found out.

No need to be as discreet as possible.

I climb onto the last step, Molly on my heels, and I rush to the first door standing ajar.

However, it seems that the stranger has had the same idea.

The door suddenly opens wide. Caught up in my momentum, I collide with a strong body. I hear Molly screaming behind me, my attacker groaning with pain. The candle must have been snuffed out in the fight, as darkness engulfs us. Instinctively, I raise my arms in front of me. My hand unintentionally lands a blow on the other man’s chin.

I suddenly feel a sharp pain in my left foot as my attacker retaliates by brutally stepping on it. I cry out and Molly calls out my name.

I suddenly hear a sharp intake of breath before an unknown voice echoes in the stairwell.

“John, wait! Stop!”

John? Could it be…?

But I had no time to think about it as the landing is suddenly flooded with harsh light.

I blink a few times.

The first thing I see is a wide blue gaze looking up at me.

A gaze which doubtless belongs to the man I’ve seen on top of the hill and is now standing a mere foot from me, observing me with an intensity I find disturbing. A red, jagged scar is spreading across his forehead.

“Oh my…”

Molly’s soft words make me turn my head a little to the right.

My heart suddenly gives a lurch.

Molly is staring with unblinking eyes at the other man standing against the doorway. Her hands are trembling, raised in front of her mouth, as if she could prevent the cry threatening to worm its way out of her throat.

As for the man himself, who is softly smiling at her…

I’ve seen him only once but I immediately recognize him.

It’s Victor Trevor.  


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers!
> 
> It has been one hell of a week - and not in a good sense! - so thank God it's the weekend and I now have time to focus once more on this story.   
> Ready for another chapter? Let's go!  
> As always, your comments and support are very much appreciated <3

During a few seconds, we all remain frozen on the spot, as if someone has put a spell on us.

Then Molly lets out a strangled little cry and takes a step forward to her brother.

“No! Don’t touch him!”

To my surprise, it doesn’t come from Victor, but from the man who didn’t hesitate to attack me earlier, whose blue gaze is now set on Molly, who has stopped in her tracks. For such a short man, he certainly knows how to use his voice.

Molly doesn’t seem impressed however; she’s furiously glaring at him, the anger in her eyes barely concealing the distress and confusion she must be feeling at this moment.

The same feelings which are running through my veins, filling up my mind with their burning questions.

Why are Victor and this man hiding in Ethel’s house? Why did Ethel lie through her teeth when she told me Victor was away? For which purpose?

And yet, at the same time, excitement is slowly but surely rekindled in my heart. All these weeks I felt like I’ve been blindfolded and misled by people that I was supposed to trust have now come to an abrupt end.

“What do you mean, ‘don’t touch him’?” Molly admonishes Victor’s companion with a sneer, which doesn’t seem to have an effect on him. “Since when have you been appointed his keeper?”

Victor opens his mouth, I can read on his face all the anxiety this situation is causing to him, but Molly beats him to it, eyes blazing as she goes on

“I don’t even know who you are!”

Her cry echoes in the empty house with such strength it could be heard by anyone passing in front of it.

“Who I am,” the stranger answers in a strained voice, “is no concern…”

“You’re John Watson,” I break him off.

I don’t know which impulse has nudged me into saying it aloud, but I find out that once I’ve started, I cannot stop.

“You’re John Watson,” I slowly repeat, staring at him, this man I’m sure is the same I’ve glimpsed at the top of the hill and who is now goggling at me, mouth open in amazement.

“You’re an Unmarked,” I whisper, glancing at the barely-healed scar on his forehead and ignoring Molly’s small gasp. “You were living in Cohn Island, where you tried to pass yourself off as an Alpha to attend the medical courses at the university. I assume you were dreaming of becoming a doctor, weren’t you? But you were discovered and you got arrested. Last I heard you were supposed to be in Stonewall, waiting for your death sentence to be carried out.”

During a fleeting moment, the world around me disappears, leaving only this John Watson, whose gaze is locked with mine. All the masks he has been forced to put upon his face are dropped and I can read in his eyes not only the confirmation I’ve been right on all counts, but also his response to my tale.

A deep surprise tinged with something else, a kind of soft wonder which for some inexplicable reason makes me flush.

The corner of his mouth quirks up.

I should look away, it’s not proper at all to look at a stranger and an Unmarked to boot in this fashion, and…

 

Our silent contest – if it really was one – is interrupted by Victor’s exclamation

“You told me you didn’t speak to him!”

“I didn’t!” John retorts, glancing at Victor before turning his head once again in my direction. “I don’t know how…”

The rest of his sentence gets drowned by Molly’s question

“What is going on here?”

All her anger has disappeared, replaced with a distraught note, as if she was a child who has lost her way and doesn’t know how to get back on track. She gazes at her brother in mute appeal and he flinches from the look she’s giving him.

“Molly… Oh dear, it’s really embarrassing! You shouldn’t have come here. If Mother ever found out…”

“I don’t care!” she cries out. “Tell us. Sherlock and I have the right to know why you’re hiding away.”

She glances at John, but doesn’t add anything. She doesn’t need to – her intent is quite clear. I can hear Watson grinding his teeth, but he remains silent and avoids my gaze as well as Victor’s glance.

“Okay, all right!” Victor says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t stress yourself, Molly, you’ll see, it’s a silly thing. Mother and I… We were going to surprise you both tomorrow! The Chancellor has released me from my duty to him as his healer since he’s officially cured and I took the first ship…”

I let him ramble, getting tangled up in explanations which sound ridiculous to my ears.

He’s lying.

And John Watson, the daring Unmarked, the would-be doctor who risked everything to fulfil his dream, is helping him with his obstinate silence.

Fury grips me by the throat with such intensity it’s painful. I clench my fists so hard my nails are drawing bloody crescents in my skin. But this small hurt cannot compare to the realization crashing down, invading my whole mind, not even sparing my very own Room – they’re lying to us.

And they will carry on like this because they don’t think we’re worth telling us the truth.

 

Before my very eyes are dancing the faces of Violet, Mycroft, my father.

Ethel.

_“Forget us, Sherlock.”_

_“Do as you are told, Sherlock, like the proper little Omega you are...”_

Even James is laughing at me.

The veil they’ve thrown over my head is fraying and has been for quite a long time, I realize, as I tear up what’s left of it.

What remains is a blank canvas, free from any lie, any illusion or misunderstanding.

What remains is now mine to discover.

Molly is frowning at his brother, peering doubtfully at him. I can see her inner struggle between trusting her older brother, this Alpha she has known her whole life and that she won’t suspect and her instinctive refusal as regards what she’s told, because it doesn’t make any sense.

I don’t know what Victor is trying to accomplish but in any case, he’s failing miserably. I glance once more at John only to catch him out looking at me. I do not turn away. I don’t care anymore if it’s proper or not – I feel my whole face flushing but this time it’s not with embarrassment.

I’m angry.

I’m furious.

And in the wake of the storm brewing in my mind comes a hint of the truth that I’ve been denied.

I’m looking at John Watson because he’s the first clue, the first sign which unwittingly leads me on the right path.

His presence here, in close quarters with an Alpha, is incongruous.

Totally illogical.

Unless you start taking into account the facts that my mind is collecting right now, establishing links between them.  

His knowledge of the human body.

The Trevors’ influence.

The sharp smell I’ve caught at the bottom of the stairs.

Alpha Trevor’s words – “ _We’re losing the war_ ” – and his hostility towards his wife.

Ethel’s obvious uneasiness this morning after having come back from this very house.

They know. They all know. Molly and I have been kept in the dark because… Well, does it matter? We’re Omegas, they can afford to everything they want from us.

John’s eyes widen. He seems ready to open his mouth, disturbing thus my train of thought, and I can’t allow that. I look away.

Focusing on Victor, still babbling about to Molly. Still trying to convince her.

He looks exactly like the portrait…

Wait.

No.

It isn’t true, I realize, as I examine him.

 

In his haste to explain to his sister what happened, he’s sweating and the small beads forming on his forehead, slowly rolling down to his temples and his cheeks, are peeling off whatever substance is covering his face. They reveal in their wake red spots marking the side of his face, from his chin to his ear.

“That’s why, Molly, you really can’t stay here…”

He absent-mindedly mops his brow with the back of his left hand.

A gesture which draws out a strangled sound from John’s throat. He immediately tries to cover it up with a cough, but it’s too late.

Because we have seen the same thing – a golden shadow on Victor’s forehead, left by his hand rubbing down on his sweaty skin.

A chill runs down my spine as I’m staring at Victor’s Mark.

His Mark which is dissolving into thin air, leaving behind pale, blemished skin.

Suddenly I’m back at my father’s bedside, a few hours after he died.

His Mark gone forever.

But I wasn’t with him when he died. I wasn’t there to see if his Mark has already disappeared before.

My breath catches in my throat.

It can’t be.

But the proof is there, just in front of me and it can’t be ignored any longer.

All these signs to which I’ve turned a blind eye – the fact that the door of my father’s bedroom has been barred against me or the doctor who has never been called in, Violet’s insistence when she told me to forget everything which has happened…

I close my eyes. But I can’t smother the cry of pain rising in my throat.

“Sherlock?”

I hear Molly calling out my name.

And it only increases the pain I’m already feeling inside because I know what I’m about to say will hurt her as well.

She’s suddenly standing beside me, putting a hand which is meant to be reassuring on my shoulder.

“Sherlock? Didn’t you hear… ?”

I’m laughing but there isn’t any joy in that sound.

I open my eyes again.

Meeting Victor’s gaze.

He looks like some trapped animal – and he is indeed trapped, in a very awful way.

“I’m sorry, Molly…”

I do not pay any attention to her frown, taking instead her free hand in mine.

“Sorry? Whatever for?”

“Because I have to say your brother is telling you lies. He’s here because he’s sick.”

Victor blanches as I point him out.

“Look at him. Look at his Mark. It’s halfway gone.”

In the deafening silence which falls on us, I hear the sadness and grief welling up in every word as I say

“He’s suffering from the same illness my father fought against.”

I lower my voice to a whisper

“But in the end, he couldn’t win.”


	25. Chapter 25

Brought face to face with my assertions, Victor is already shaking his head and for a fleeting moment, I’m sure he intends to deny everything that I have revealed about him, but Molly’s softly spoken question brings him up short

“Is it true?”

From where I stand I can’t discern her expression but it must be heart-breaking because Victor heaves a sigh.

“Yes… but it doesn’t mean I’m going to die!” he claims as he glances at me, as if I was going to laugh at him for stating this. “I have complete confidence in my skills and John here has promised to help me.”

He keeps quiet about the elephant in the room – the fact that the Trevors’ influence was powerful enough to obtain John’s release from Stonewall. A chilly feeling creeps up on me as I muse on the fate of the Unmarked man – What will happen to him once Victor’s cured, if he could be healed? Was he forced to lend Victor assistance? Is he bound to go back to prison and the death awaiting him within those walls whatever the outcome as regards Victor’s fate may be?

Or has he got something up his sleeve?

I observe him out of the corner of my eye, becoming aware that this stranger has succeeded in catching my attention. He represents something I’ve never heard of – an Unmarked vying with the Republic itself for the life he has dreamt of.

And I realize at this moment I don’t want to see him fail. I don’t care if he has broken all the rules by impersonating some Alpha – how did he get the Mark to do so? It must be related to the scar on his forehead – and…

Molly’s voice brings me back to reality.

“But I don’t understand! Why are you here? If you’re ill, you ought to be in hospital, where the doctors will treat you properly! I’ll come with you, I’ll stay at your bedside, you won’t be alone.”

Her tone rings with sincerity and I have no doubt she’ll keep her promises. It makes me also a bit ashamed – I should be the one professing concern and bringing reassurance to my betrothed. But something is holding me back. Maybe if Molly can come with him, it might be different.

My thoughts are cut short by John breaking the silence.

“I’ll tell you what will happen if your brother goes to hospital. The staff will notice right away his Mark disappearing and someone will rat on him to the Watchers’ Office. Victor won’t have the time to see a doctor and even less to receive whatever treatment they will come up with. He will be discreetly snatched and sent away wherever all the patients presenting with the same symptoms go. You won’t see him again.”

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, he looks the perfect picture of calm. But it’s only a mask – another one – he has put upon his features. I don’t know how I’m able to see through him, but I do not doubt what my instinct is telling me as regards John Watson.

Hearing his words, Molly has gone white and I fear for a second she’s going to feel faint. I put my hand on her elbow, something which doesn’t go unnoticed by John if the quick glance he’s giving to us before looking away again is a true indication.

“What do you mean, ‘all the patients’?” I ask. “Why will they be sent away?”

For the first time since Molly and I have discovered their hideout, Victor raises his head, addressing me directly.

“How do you think the Chancellor was going to react when confronted with an illness wiping the Alpha Mark off our faces? A Mark which was given to us by the Father Above, which was supposed to be unattainable and which can be suddenly erased so easily? A sickness which reduces us to the level of Unmarked people?”

I hear a tiny intake of breath to my right but I do not dare looking away from Victor. He has dropped all pretence and his features are now distorted by pain as well as anguish. He truly looks miserable and at this moment, I’m willing to walk to him and give him whatever comfort I can offer. Only John’s earlier warning to Molly – “Don’t touch him!” – holds me back.

His fingers clenching the door’s lintel are trembling when he whispers

“It’s a plague. It’s a fucking plague and all they want is to pass over it in silence. Nobody is going to help us.”

* * *

 

“No!”

Molly’s reaction startles me enough I instinctively remove my hand. She doesn’t seem to have become aware of it, as she walks to her brother, stopping just before touching him.

“I can’t believe this,” she fervently whispers, staring at her brother. “I refuse to see you wilting like this, giving up before every attempt has been made.”

“Molly…”

“Don’t you try to distract me, Victor! I’ll come here every day if I must, checking on you both, doing whatever is needed to help you find a solution.”

In other circumstances, John’s alarmed expression at this moment will be enough to elicit a smile. Victor doesn’t seem to have the same reservations about Molly’s help, judging from the little smile on his lips.

A smile which drops out of sight as soon as he hears her sister resuming

“Mother will be able to provide guidance in this research…”

A bark of laughter sharply echoes in the stairwell. John is shaking his head, pitying disbelief shining in his eyes. An expression which doesn’t endear him in the slightest to Molly, who turns readily to him, her eyes narrowed in distrust.

“Care to share what you obviously find so funny?” she nearly yells with a growl in her tone I’ve never heard before. In fact, I’ve never seen her so incensed until now.

But John holds his ground.

“With all due respect, Omega Trevor, you have your head in the clouds!”

“John!” Victor tries to break him off. “Mind your tongue, that’s my sister…”

“Oh, trust me, I know everything which is to know about your sacrosanct family!” John hotly retorts. “Even when you don’t order me to spy on your sister or your betrothed…”

An unappealing flush spreads across Victor’s face as I stand frozen on the spot, being forcefully reminded of the night of my arrival here, when some noise below my window has drawn my attention.

“I have to deal with your mother!” John hollers, cheeks turning crimson with anger. “And she’s a truly nasty piece of work, isn’t she? Refusing to see you even when you were begging her to when you were bedridden, looking at me like she would want nothing more than sending me back to Stonewall. And I don’t even speak of the supplies we have been waiting for weeks now!”

He abruptly stops, panting for breath. Molly stares at him before turning to her brother, obviously reeling from the shock John’s outburst has caused.

“Mother… doesn’t help you?”

Victor closes his eyes, swallowing hard. This discussion seems to have exhausted him and his words are barely audible when he answers

“She… She thinks I’ve been cursed. That the Father Above is punishing me for my sins. She… agreed to take us in here and to bring us food and other things. She said it’s because I’m her son. But she won’t go against her god’s wishes.”

“And… Father? He knows you’re here?”

Victor’s nod is the last straw. Molly lets out a small cry full of pain before rushing downstairs.

“Molly!” I call her out before instinctively following her.

“Sherlock, wait!”

I stop for a moment, glancing at Victor. I’m only a few feet from him and at tis range I can clearly see the toll the illness is obviously taking of him. Shivers run down my spine as he says in a low voice.

“Tell her I’m sorry. For everything.”

I would like to add something but nothing comes to my mind, so I nod before going after Molly.

* * *

 

She’s waiting for me outside, pacing up and down the path leading to Ethel’s house. Fortunately, the moon has finally appeared and casts enough light on us both so I can discern her outline.

“Molly…”

She turns to me. Without a word I open my arms and she runs over to me. I don’t know which one of us is comforting the other, our arms locked around each other in a fierce embrace. She’s trembling from head to foot and I can make out all the efforts she’s making not to cry and crumble. I’m not much better. I become aware I’m whispering again and again against her hair

“I’m sorry, Molly, I didn’t imagine we will find out…”

“I know, I know. Shhh.”

We remain like this for I don’t know how long. Our hearts beating in harmony with each other, the crashing waves on the beach lulling us into a false sense of security.

“What are we going to do?”

I find myself unable to answer.

What are we going to do now that we know the truth? How are we going to behave towards Ethel once we’re back in the house? How do we escape her watchful eye if we want to go back here?

But before I can utter a single word, I hear behind me someone clearing his throat.

Molly stiffens in my arms before drawing back and glancing at the house.

“It’s him.”

No need to ask her to whom she refers with this “him”.

“I think he’s waiting for you. Or us.”

She takes a deep breath.

“I can’t… I can’t stand him right now. Would you…?”

“Of course. Don’t go too far, okay?”

She nods before releasing me and stepping back.

After one last smile, I turn on my heels.

John Watson is indeed waiting for me. And judging from the stern expression on his face, I guess he hasn’t got some good news to deliver.  


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could be called "Sex Education by John Watson"   
> Just to give you a little hint ^^

“Do you want something?”

I’m perfectly aware it’s a rather abrupt question but it’s getting late and exhaustion, physical as well as emotional, is weighing down on my shoulders. I’m quite looking forward to my silent room and the bed inside, to tell the truth. John shrugs, he doesn’t look particularly offended by my bluntness.

“Just talking to you if you can spare some time,” he replies, his lips quirking up in a quick smile, as if he was bracing himself for a refusal.

“Okay. Care for a walk?”

At first he seems surprised by my easy acceptance as well as my request. He simply says “Gladly” but I do not miss the happy glint shining in his gaze. I imagine he must feel a bit cramped, being cooped up all day in this house with only Victor as company. If I’m honest with myself, I’m quite curious as regards the exact nature of their relationship. It’s quite logical to deduce they met at the University during medicine classes, but apart from that, I don’t know much else. Were they friends in a sort? How did Victor react after discovering that John was an Unmarked? And above all else – how did their particular agreement work out?

I’m glancing behind me, in the direction of the Trevors’ mansion. True to her word, Molly hasn’t gone too far, having come down the hill and sat down on a bench facing the beach.

“I’m sorry,” John suddenly breaks the silence between us. “I shouldn’t have snapped at her earlier… I guess she’s not very fond of me right now,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh.

It’s true but I’m not willing to add another nail in this particular coffin, so I attempt to divert this discussion.

“Discovering her brother in such a state gave her a great shock.”

“And you’re not? Shocked, I mean?”

What a strange question. I look at him but he refuses to meet my gaze.

“I’m… I certainly didn’t expect to find the man I was going to be Bonded to sick and hiding away in his mother’s house!”

And before I can swallow my words, I hear myself asserting

“Nor did I expect to see him being cared for by an Unmarked.”

This time, John raises his head, giving me a challenging look.

“Does _this_ shock you? The fact that an Unmarked is not only able to assist your future husband but could also well be the key to his recovery?”

I realize we have both stopped strolling down the hill, staring at one another like two duellists ready to engage swords. Everything in his posture, from his clenched hands to the way he slightly tilts his head, is radiating defiance.

It comes to my mind that I should have been angry to be provoked like this.

Or afraid – after all, I’m alone with this stranger, who has already attacked me once, as the pain in my foot is reminding me.

But I feel neither.

And I certainly don’t want to fight with the man Victor has chosen to help him.

“Well, I can’t deny I’m rather intrigued with your presence here. Last I heard, you were under lock and key in Stonewall’s death row.”

John blanches and I feel immediately completely stupid to have tackled this topic in such a fashion. But he quickly recovers

“You seem to know an awful lot about me. And here I was thinking that rich and pampered Omegas like yourself weren’t paying the slightest attention to people like me! Such an honour, really…”

His voice is dripping with condescension, paying me back in spades for my earlier blunder. I know I’m supposed to feel insulted – that’s certainly his intent – but the only thing from his speech sticking in my mind is “pampered”.

And I definitely can’t hold back the giggling coming from my mouth and quickly turning into true hilarity, especially when a baffled expression spreads across John’s face.

“Sorry… I promise I’m not laughing at you but… your words completely miss the mark. As for the way I knew who you are…”

To my great surprise I find myself telling him what I would never have dreamed before confiding to a stranger – the disastrous Coven’s Farewell, how my brother crashed the ceremony, how I was nearly caught in my room by his friends, my desperate flight across Cohn Island to the Temple and the way I threaded my way through the Unmarked group to escape detection.

I have barely finished my tale that I hear a soft “Amazing” slipping out of his mouth. A reaction I wasn’t expecting and which leaves me with a strange warmth blooming in my chest.

“I mean,” he hastens to say “It was quick thinking.” He absent-mindedly rubs his cheek, his stubble scratching beneath his fingertips. “It seems I have to offer apologies once again, I have misjudged you.”

The frank gaze he directs at me, where I can find no trace of his earlier hostility, gives me a thrill of joy I try to smother to no avail.

On an impulse, I hold out my hand to him.

“Maybe we can both forget our previous misunderstandings and turn over a new leaf.”

His palm against mine is warm and his smile honest as he answers

“I like this plan.”

“Good. It’s… good,” I can’t help but repeat, eliciting a mischievous spark in John’s gaze as he releases my hand.

A spark which disappears as quickly as it has come when he resumes

“Are you really determined to help Victor?” he asks, adding before I can reply “I wouldn’t blame you if you have changed your mind, you know… Dealing with something you know very little about can be dangerous…”

“Yes, I am,” I break him off with a fervour which takes me by surprise. John gives me a nod.

“Okay. I’m going to tell you everything I’ve gathered about it.”

* * *

 

“From what Victor told me, the first symptoms appeared three months ago. First it was a dark red spot on his chest, then on the sole of his feet. At the same time, he started to feel tired all the time. Exhaustion was weighing him down even if he didn’t make any physical effort. He even fell asleep in the middle of a lecture at Uni. Angry rashes were breaking out on his face and elsewhere on his body. But what really makes him afraid…”

John stops, as if he was reminded of something especially unpleasant. I do not dare interrupt his musings, for fear of provoking him into reacting rashly.

“His Mark was fading. He came to me and…”

This time I break him off.

“He didn’t know you were an Unmarked, did he?”

“Of course not. I couldn’t trust anyone with my secret and especially not an Alpha. Victor was kind and interesting, we got on well but I was too mistrustful to confide in him.”

He takes a deep breath, as if he could in this way acquire some courage.

“I was doing my best to keep my distance from him – from everyone, really. But human nature is thus made that we cannot help but forming connections with the others. At this time, I was getting along with Victor and another student, called Erick. Victor and him were very close friends, but they accepted me into their circle and for me, it was enough. It was nearing the snowy month when Erick suddenly disappeared.”

His haunted look tells me he’s lost into his memories.

“He vanished into thin air. I have to admit I wasn’t too worried about him – his attendance record wasn’t very good, if you get my meaning – but Victor immediately expressed his concern about him. He told me right away something was up with Erick, that we have to look for him. Of course, I wasn’t as free as him to search Cohn Island for Erick, I was leading a double life, lying to everyone, even to my Mom…”

He lowers his head but not as quick as I couldn’t see a flush on his cheekbones.

“Living with the Unmarked gets at least one advantage – you hear the rumours spreading across Cohn Island before everyone else. Unmarked can often go to and fro unnoticed and they see and hear things that the authorities let slip through their fingers… In this case the rumour concerned people falling ill and vanishing afterwards without a trace. I started to feel afraid for Erick, even if I haven’t noticed any worrying symptoms the last time I’ve seen him. I didn’t dare telling Victor however – he was fretting himself over Erick constantly. And then one day he didn’t appear at University.”

There’s a strained quality in his voice which tells me more than any word how much he must have been anxious about his missing friends.

“He showed up again a few days later… I shook him like a plum tree ready to be harvested, I was so frightened! That’s when he showed me the spots on his body, whispering to me that his Mark was fading and how he was tired all the time and what could it mean?”

He shoots me a glance that I can’t interpret before licking his lips in a nervous gesture.

“He revealed to me something he has kept quiet until then. Something he hasn’t dared telling me because… Well.”

“What was it?”

“Erick… Erick has presented with the same symptoms before he has vanished. Victor knew this for sure. As I said before, they were… close.”

His gaze meets mine and it suddenly clicks. If I hadn’t read Molly’s stories, I’m sure I would never have guessed. My cheeks are burning as I imagine Victor and this stranger – Erick – having sex. Or as much as I could imagine anyway. I look away. I do feel a little pang of pain and isn’t it completely ridiculous to feel like this, since at that time I hadn’t any right to Victor’s faithfulness?

But he was already betrothed to you, wasn’t he? a little voice whispers in my ear. He was fucking another man – another Alpha to boot – and he would have gladly gone to bed with you afterwards if he hasn’t fallen ill.

I shiver as I imagine what could have happened.

Could I have been also taken ill?

“I’m sorry,” John stammers out, ill-at-ease. “I didn’t want to trouble you…”

“No, it’s okay,” I reply, shaking my head. “I had to know this. So this disease is caused by…”

Goodness, I can’t even say the words without blushing! Fortunately for me, John doesn’t have the same reservations.

“Sexual intercourse – at least when it’s unprotected.”

“Unprotected? What do you mean?”

He gives me a little smile, which I might have considered as insulting if he hasn’t added

“Sorry, I forgot that’s not something you’re likely to have learned at school, isn’t it?”

I shake my head dumbly, rather astonished at this news.

“Well, let’s just say you can put on your penis something we Unmarked call a “second skin”. It’s thin and stretchy and when it works – because it can slip if you didn’t put on correctly or be broken in the worst case – it stops your sperm from being transmitted to the other person when you…”

He makes an explicit gesture with his hand.

“You see…”

“Yeah,” I hasten to answer, cursing my red cheeks and my racing heart. The only silver lining in this situation is that John seems as embarrassed as me. After a while, he clears his throat.

“Anyway, that’s what I have concluded from what Victor told me. But before I got arrested, I also heard that some persons were being contaminated by taking drugs.”

I frown.

“Drugs?”

“Like the Wish Tree for instance and… No, no, don’t be alarmed!” he cries out as soon as he glimpses my face. “The drugs I’m talking about seem to have been taken with a syringe…”

A syringe? Whatever for? My head is swimming with all the new information I’ve gathered in a single night. Victor’s illness, John’s presence, the mysterious plague…

John must have come up with the same conclusion, because he stops his explanations and raises his hands.

“Apologies once again, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. It’s a lot to take in… You know what? Take a few days to think about it and when you’re ready, I’ll tell you the rest, okay?”

“Do we still have a few days?”

He shrugs. He didn’t lie to me, telling me that we have all the time before us. It’s useless. I become aware that I’m now involved in a race against time – and it doesn’t only concern Victor.

“In any case, don’t say a word of all this to Ethel. If she ever learned that you know the truth about Victor…”

His face has hardened as he mentioned the woman who has never stopped deceiving and betraying her kin.

“Don’t worry on this account. I do not intend to confide anything to her.”

And I guess my face is reflecting what I’m feeling right now about her because John gives me an approving look.

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, as I finally lie in my bed, drifting off to sleep, I suddenly hear the stairs creaking. A little while after, the sound of a door closing nearby reaches my ears.

Ethel has come back from her mysterious meeting with the Alpha who invited her.  

And I wonder if her night has turned out to be as eventful as mine.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers,
> 
> Please note I'll be away for a few days, so no update until next week at the soonest.  
> And now I hope you're ready for some pining, because here it comes... :)
> 
> happy halloween to all of you!

_I’m standing on the beach, admiring the constant dance of the waves. If I were steering a ship right now, I would feel it under my feet – up and down, up and down. As lovely as Victory Island is, I would turn my back on it without any remorse, heading for the unknown, stretching out my arms and letting the sea wind ruffling my hair._

_I would forget the Bond who was never meant to be, the tangled web of lies and deception spun by Ethel and even this unseen danger I feel lurking in the shadows, slowly advancing upon me like some beast ready to pounce on his prey._

_I would forget everything except…_

_Strong arms suddenly embrace me from behind as a warm teasing voice whispers in my ear._

_“Hello love.”_

_Except him, of course._

_I allow a little smile to bloom on my lips before turning around._

_My gaze meets his, glinting with a spark of fond mischief._

_“What were you dreaming about?”, he asks, glancing down deliberately at my mouth. He knows I can’t resist the temptation to kiss him and hold him close. I put my hand on the back of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin upon mine. A relieved voice chants in my Room “he’s alive, he’s well, he’s safe” as I slowly lower my head, my lips barely grazing his in a near kiss which elicits a lovely growl from his throat._

_“Make a guess,” I retort before this time putting my mouth on his, my tongue already tracing the seam of his lips. He immediately opens them for me, giving as good as he got._

_His hands are reverently stroking my face, my neck._

_I feel safe. Cherished._

_Loved._

_And all is well._

* * *

 

I wake up with a choked gasp, sitting up in my bed. Mouth open, I take deep breathes as my heart is pounding in my chest. But this discomfort is nothing compared to the humiliation tenting the sheet covering my lap.

I’m sporting a very healthy erection and I groan when I’m reminded of the dream I’ve once again experienced. Will I never learn? Determined to ignore my almost painfully erect penis, I lean over, stretching myself out on the bed in order to grasp the glass of water on the bedside table. I empty it in three gulps, already feeling a bit better as the cool liquid helps to calm me down.

At least as far as my head is concerned.

My body is another kettle of fish. And I do not dare examining too closely my heart.

I lie down on my side, nestling among the fluffy cushions.

Goodness. It has been little more than a week since Molly and I have discovered Victor and John in Ethel’s house and I’m still wondering how we could have found ourselves in such a mess.

Victor is dreadfully ill, John is struggling to find a remedy with the little means he has at his disposal, Molly is shaking every time her mother speaks to her, restraining herself from screaming and raving against her for having basically given up her son.

And to top it all, I’ve fallen in lust with John Watson.

I close my eyes, feeling my excitement slowly receding.  

What a truly ridiculous thing to have done, I think, as I open my eyes again, glaring at the latest story I’ve read yesterday before falling asleep. In retrospect, I should have guessed it wasn’t very wise to devour this kind of fiction as I was already struggling against my feelings for John. Reading how Blake and Harris are falling in love, learning to get past their own prejudices as well as everything which has been forbidden to them by society, inevitably puts me in mind my current situation – meeting John, getting to know him until I become aware that what I was feeling for him has never been purely friendship.

Without speaking of the rather vivid dreams I now have on a regular basis.

I heave a sigh, turning on my back.

What a mess, indeed. And the worst is that I don’t seem to be able to work more proactively in helping Victor while staying away from John. It’s simply not possible. Let’s add to this the fact that Molly hasn’t yet warmed to the Unmarked man, preferring to stay with her brother and therefore leaving me alone to assist John even if I can’t really do much, and you have a recipe for disaster.

It doesn’t help that John is always greeting me with a smile, always willing to accept my support, patiently guiding me through experiments with his instructions.

It makes a nice change from Victor’s behaviour towards me. I don’t know if John has told him what he has confided to me as regards his past relationship with Erick, but since the first night I’ve discovered him in Ethel’s house, he doesn’t seem very enthusiastic about spending time with me.

Or maybe I’m just completely unfair and biased, I think, as I’m staring at the starry sky outside. The man is obviously suffering, racked by vivid pains. When he’s not curled up under his blanket, teeth chattering, he’s complaining it’s way too hot in his room and can Molly please open the window?

Under these circumstances, it’s not easy finding a way to reach out to him, making him coming out of his painful shell. Besides, I must admit I’ve never been the most sociable and easy-going person in the world – missing qualities I suddenly seem to acquire whenever I find myself in John’s company.

I angrily punch the mattress as I realize I’m once again stupidly mooning over him.

It doesn’t matter I find him beautiful, even with this scar on his forehead, or that he manages to make me laugh without even trying.

It doesn’t matter, I tell myself as I close my eyes, trying to fall asleep.

I can’t afford to fall in love with him.

* * *

 

Dinner has just been over but I’m already waiting for Molly, pacing up and down the southern terrace which has fast become our meeting place when we’re both ready to walk to Ethel’s house. Of course, no one else is aware of that fact – the servants think we’re going for a stroll together on the beach. As for Molly’s parents… Thank the Father Above Ethel is busy organising her birthday party, which will occur next week. She talks about nothing else than which person to send an invitation to, which food to buy and how the Trevors’ mansion will be decorated. It comes to the point that it’s simply excruciating to sit down at the table and to pretend not to know that a mile away, in a lonely house, a man is slowly dying.

A shadow abruptly joins me. I take one look at Molly’s strained expression, her lips pursed in a tight line as if it was the only way for her to keep quiet about her brother’s presence and my heart goes out to her. I would do anything to lighten the weight on her shoulders or to smooth down the worried lines furrowing her brow.

She glances up at me, keeping a light tone.

“Shall we go?”

In silence I take her arm and we go towards the beach. As the Trevors’ house is growing more and more distant behind us, I hear Molly breathing more easily.

“I can’t stand her,” she whispers, her voice being nearly drowned by the wind rustling our hair and clothes. “She has never been the most attentive mother but I respected her all the same. Now… I look at her and I find her completely repulsive.”

I give her arm a light squeeze, a gesture that I hope means some comfort to her.

“I don’t know how long I’m going to bear all this.”

“Molly, we have no choice. Remember what John said…”

“I know,” she breaks me off abruptly. “You’ve already told me a hundred times, I won’t forget it in a hurry!”

I find myself stung by her sharp rebuke and resolve to keep quiet. As always, we’re waiting for the sun to disappear completely beneath the ocean before walking up to Ethel’s house. Seagulls are flying over our heads, welcoming us with shrill cries and I’m reminded of this night’s dream. I swallow hard. In a few moments, I’ll see John again and despite my best efforts, I can’t help but feel a fierce thrill at this prospect.

I give a great sigh – Molly is not the only one straining not to disclose her true feelings. I have to put on an act towards so many persons – Ethel, Molly, Victor, John… I feel like I’ll never be allowed to be just myself.

Molly obviously misjudges my sigh as her shoulder lightly bumps against my arm.

“Sorry. I’m no fit company at the moment. This whole situation is eating away at me and I don’t know how to solve all this.” She shakes her head. “I really shouldn’t complain, not when I see my brother in pain and trying in vain to hide it.”

I feel the sting of guilt in my heart as I ask

“Does he speak about Ethel?”

“Not really.” She glances up at me. “You would know if you sometimes went upstairs with me, you know.”

I’m suddenly lost for words, opening my mouth without any sound coming from it. If Molly has noticed my reluctance to see Victor, has she also observed anything else?

“I didn’t want to disturb him,” I finally mumble.

“He’s your betrothed or did you already forget?” Molly retorts, the viciousness of her tongue arousing my own anger. I stop short in my tracks, giving her an angry glare as she turns to me.

“Seeing as he’s barely looking at me when I’m in his room, maybe he’s the one who needs a reminder!”

Deep down I know this feud is completely absurd – we should learn to support each other and work together in order to find a solution instead of uselessly bickering – but I don’t seem to be able to stop and neither does Molly, as she hotly answers

“How do you dare accusing him! Maybe if you didn’t spend all your time down there with the Unmarked…”

“The Unmarked will thank you to keep the noise down,” a familiar voice suddenly echoes behind us, making me jump. “With all this shouting, it’s a wonder that nobody has already come running to find out what’s going on!”

My heart is going triple-time as I catch sight of John’s outline walking to us. Despite everything, I can’t deny his presence is like a soothing balm for my frayed nerves. Which isn’t obviously the case for Molly, judging from her expression.

“Besides,” John adds, “you’re unfair to Sherlock, who seems to be the only one willing to help me in my experiments.”

Molly lets out a strangled cry at what was obviously a dig at her before drawing herself to her full height and walking away to Ethel’s house. My eyes follow her until she vanishes in the growing shadows. In spite of the joy buzzing through my veins because of John’s closeness, I also feel a deep regret for the way things have turned ugly between Molly and I. I shouldn’t have reacted in such a fashion, I shouldn’t have snapped at her when she was speaking of Victor. It wouldn’t have killed me to go with her in his room and attempt once again to talk to him.

In the rising darkness, it’s difficult to see if John is looking at me or not, but I delude myself into believing I can feel the weight of his gaze on me.

“Why did you say this?” I softly ask.

“Because it’s the truth,” he retorts before sighing. “I mean, I’m grateful that you’re spending some time with me in my makeshift laboratory downstairs. I’m used to work on my own but sometimes I also enjoy not being alone.”

I’ve learned to enjoy and at the same time to be afraid of the teasing tone which regularly appears whenever he’s talking to me.

“You’ll make a fine medical assistant one day.”

I snort, doing my best to smother the warm thrill spreading across my chest.

“You’re too kind,” I mockingly reply.

He lets out a small laugh before becoming serious again.

“I didn’t mean to hold you back from visiting Victor, if you want to. Don’t feel obliged to keep me company…”

“I feel no such thing. As you said, we’re working together to come up with a remedy and if I can assist you in this task, I’ll gladly do so.”

Does he hear the fervour ringing in my voice?

Does he only see why I’m favouring his company above anyone else’s?

At this moment, I’m torn between my reason crying out to me not to make a dreadful mistake – “He’s an Unmarked, he’s a dead man walking, keep your distance!” – and a reckless voice rising in my heart, whispering to me “Wouldn’t you like to know if his kiss is as lovely as in your dream?”.

“That’s always… good to know,” he replies and I can’t deduce anything from his voice. “Speaking of the remedy… That’s also why I’ve come outside tonight, I was hoping to talk to you alone.”

“Why?” I ask, ignoring my heart racing at these words.

“Because I haven’t received any news from Ethel these days and I don’t have any idea as regards the supplies she promised me to obtain for last week. So I was thinking…”

He nervously scratches his hair, betraying his discomfort and his growing irritation with this gesture which has become familiar to me.

“Does she seem strange to you? I mean, stranger than usual? Did you notice anything weird going on with her?”

I shake my head.

“Not really. She’s obviously busy organising her birthday party but apart from that… I’d ask Molly as soon as we patch up our quarrel.”

“Yeah! Nice idea,” he says in a voice which leads me to believe it isn’t a nice idea at all.

I frown, not understanding why he’s behaving so strangely.

“Those supplies you’re speaking of… I guess they’re essential to your work?”

“Quite. I can’t make any progress without them and I don’t know why Ethel doesn’t answer any more to my requests.”

A chill runs down my spine as he concludes

“I don’t know what she’s playing at but, if it goes on, I’m afraid it isn’t going to end well for all of us.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm finaaaally back! Hope you all had a very nice week :)  
> Here another chapter, dear readers, I hope you'll enjoy it!

“Louise! Louise! How many times do I have to tell you it’s strictly forbidden to put anything on this table? I’m warning you, it’s the last time I have to repeat this. Next time, if I catch you out, I’ll reduce your wages, is that clear?”

I smother a groan as Ethel’s piercing voice manages to wake me up from my lethargy. It’s certainly not the way I would have chosen to start this day. I open a bleary eye, taking a peek at the weather outside through the window – it’s still raining.

Good, I think with a vicious thrill of joy. Tomorrow, Ethel is going to celebrate her 45th birthday and I just know that, if the sky remains as grey and cloudy as my mood when I think of this stupid event, it’ll be at least a little easier for me to pretend to rejoice.

I slowly stretch myself, trying in vain to shake off this heavy, almost aching feeling encasing my limbs. A tiredness due to the late nights in John’s company and the fact that I can’t find sleep easily when I come back to my room, my mind brimming with scientific formulas as much as with John’s warm smile.

Goodness. It’s really a miracle I still haven’t made a giant blunder when I’m with him. My resolve to keep my distance from him, to disengage as much as possible from the influence he seems to have on me without jeopardizing our mutual efforts to come up with a remedy for Victor didn’t even last a day. I give a sigh as I finally manage to stand up before sitting down in front of the mirror. Everything would be easier, I muse as I slowly pour cold water from the jug on the table into the washbasin, if an increasingly larger part of me wasn’t whispering in my ear that maybe I finally deserve to enjoy something good happening to me.

Something which brings me joy and happiness, even if it’s temporary.

Especially if it’s doomed from the start.

This mess we are all getting into – Victor, John, Molly and me – looks every day more and more like these unstable, volatile products John has been talking about last night. One second they are fine, the next they suddenly explode when brought into contact with another substance. Every time Ethel is putting on her nasty little act, every time I hear from John’s makeshift laboratory Victor’s labored breathing as he struggles to get his breath back after being seized with a new bout of coughing, every time Molly is forced to purse her lips in order to remain silent when we’re all at dinner, I wonder if it’s finally it, the one little thing which will spark off the whole incident.

I’m holding my breath; my body becomes tense with the strain I’ve been feeling for more than two weeks now and the exhilaration – is it happening now?

And I realize I’m waiting for it, for this little flame, this short-lived flash of light. It may well blow up in our faces, even putting us all in mortal danger, but at least – at last – I’ll know the waiting time is over, that something is happening and that all the masks we are forced to put on our faces will burn away.

Something is bound to give, I think as I rub my aching eyes with cold water.

I just have to wait.

* * *

 

As soon as I set foot in the dining room for breakfast, I know there is something afoot. Ethel sharply raises her head, greeting with a smile which could have seemed warm to an inexperienced eye. But I know better. I observe with some trepidation the calculating glint in her gaze before quickly peeking at Molly, who is already sat down at the table. But she doesn’t look up from her plate and I smother a sigh. Since our quarrel last week, when John has interrupted us on the beach, our relationship has acquired a brittle, strained quality for which I can’t help but feel guilty. It would be wise to talk it over, but the fear she already suspects my attachment to John – didn’t she hint at this when we were arguing? – reduces me to silence. I’m afraid of what she could say and that I wouldn’t be able to deny.

“Sherlock, you’ve come just at the right time,” Ethel gushes about as she stands up, pulling something out of her pocket. “I have some news for you.”

I force myself coming up to her, pasting on what I hope could pass for a smile.

“Really?” I reply, wondering who has bothered to write to me.

“Indeed,” she waves the paper in her hand, her smile widening until she looks like the proverbial cat that got the cream. “Victor has sent me a letter, wishing me a happy birthday. Isn’t he a darling boy?”

I remain frozen on the spot, gaping at her like some ignorant child the teacher has put on the spot in front of the whole class. A part of my mind is still reeling from shock but fortunately the other, larger part is running at full throttle. Of course, she would be forced to keep up with her little tale of Victor abroad, looking after the Chancellor. Of course, she would go on lying and spinning her deceitful web. Everything rather than admitting she has cast him out.

I hear myself replying “He’s a darling all right. Is he coming back?”

She slowly shakes her head, her clear gaze meeting mine in a very direct confrontation.

“I’m afraid he can’t. Our beloved Chancellor has such need of him he wouldn’t dare leaving him, even for a single night.”

Her calm voice and self-confident bearing make me speechless, more than the words coming from her mouth. She doesn’t flush or break sweat. Her tone doesn’t waver. She remains as unshakeable as a marble statue. Does she believe her lies? Is it how she succeeds in falling asleep every night? Or did the shame caused by Victor’s illness manage to kill every ounce of love she once felt for him?

Assuming that she has ever loved her children.

“It’s such a shame,” I whisper, not daring to look away from her. Ethel doesn’t answer; she’s examining me with such close scrutiny I would find disturbing with anyone else. But with her it’s simply terrifying – does she suspect I know the truth? I feel a guilty flush rising to my cheeks as I imagine her distrustful gaze watching Molly and I coming surreptitiously into her house at night and…

Molly.

Molly, who suddenly stands up, a blazing fury spreading across her face, hands trembling. I see her mouth opening, in a few seconds, she’s going to erupt in anger, giving herself away, and I can’t, I just can’t let her do this…

So I do the only thing I can think of on the spot – I snatch the letter Victor has supposedly written from Ethel’s hands.

Whatever she was expecting from me, she must not have imagined I would get the nerve of taking what’s hers away from her. She lets out a strangled cry while I hastily step back, clasping my loot against my chest.

“You won’t mind then if I borrow it from you for a moment?”

I don’t know where this is coming from, but my daring certainly gets the better of me, overriding the rising panic which makes my heart pounding in my chest.

“I certainly do!” Ethel cries out in indignation. “Give it back now!”

She’s already reaching out for me, her nails trying to scratch my hand as I dodge her. Behind Ethel, Molly is staring at me open-mouthed, her righteous anger cut short by my unexpected move. Ethel is still screaming –“Give it back!” – and her glare would have reduced me to a cowering kid a few weeks ago.

But not today.

Now, faced with her infuriated expression, I’m fighting the temptation to laugh at her, holding her letter way above her head, beyond her reach. It’s like playing with fire or at least with a nasty dog which could bite you at any moment.

It’s frightening.

It’s exciting.

I feel exhilarated, finally being bold enough to stand up and defy her. Let her be caught into her own trap, I viciously muse. Let her suffer just a little from her own machinations.

“Come on, let me have a peek…”

I don’t why I’m saying this, Ethel has stopped listening to me, pursuing me around the room and expressing her outrage with ear-splitting screeches. It doesn’t deter me from unfolding her letter.

I only catch a glimpse of a few words written in a neat, slightly slanting handwriting – “… _be assured that I fully support you_ …” – before stopping in my tracks.

I know this handwriting.

I saw it before. The irritating smell of chalk wafts around me while Ethel’s screeches are replaced with Miss Leech’s piercing voice. I’m transported back to Omega school, trying in vain not to be noticed and waiting for James’ news.

These little slips he was drawing up, putting them into the hand of an Omega kid who trotted away afterwards to the classroom I was in while James was cooling his heels in a dark corner, ready to pull me by my sleeve when I finally appeared and we were off to a new adventure…

How many times did I see his handwriting?

Something I didn’t expect to find here again, in the Trevors’ mansion.

“What’s going on here?”

Alpha Trevor’s stern voice brings me back to reality. I’m still bewildered enough that I don’t react when Ethel, as quick as a snake, snatches back her letter from my still hand.

“Nothing that you need to worry about, dear husband,” she says, still out of breath. “Sherlock and I had a little disagreement about proprieties, but that’s all settled now, isn’t it?”

I give a little nod, numb with shock, unable to believe what I’ve just discovered. I ignore Ethel’s furious gaze, promising me swift and harsh retaliation.

Why would James write to her?

* * *

 

“Oh by the Father Above! I would have paid to see this!”

Next to me, John is laughing so hard his face is becoming crimson and tears are springing to his eyes. I look at him, smiling despite the troubled memories the letter of this morning has revived. I look at him, I hear his clear laugh and for one moment, everything is right in this world. He’s lovely like that – cheeks flushed, blue eyes watering, lost in his amusement. He’s something pure, rare and I want to hold him in my arms, never letting him go. Instead I look away while he raises his head again, still chuckling over my tale. I would have done the same had I not recognized James’ handwriting. Someone I thought I had lost forever and who is writing now to the woman supposed to be my future mother-in-law, assuring her she has his full support… Has this world gone mad?

“Sherlock?”

John’s voice in my ear startles me as much as his hand on mine. He removes it immediately, much to my chagrin.

“Sorry, I… You just seemed far away.”

He looks at me in the eye.

“Has all this distressed you? I thought it was funny…”

“It is,” I hasten myself to put his mind at ease. “I’m sure Ethel will think of something to punish me with for it but I don’t care.”

John’s lips quirk up.

“You’re a brave one, then.”

I shake my head, ready to disabuse him in that regard, but he beats me to it.

“No, that’s true. In spite of the risk of being caught out, you always come here, keeping me company, cheering me up when I’m feeling down and…”

He lets out a light chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.

“I can’t seem to find the right words to say how much… it all means to me. You give me strength and spirit, Sherlock.”

I’m stunned. It doesn’t seem right at first that an Unmarked man who has been through so much not just to survive but also to carve his own path in this world would tell me, an Omega who has never been able to stand up for himself until recently, all those things but the Father Above help me, I don’t have the heart to deny it.

John, I think. My John.

And at this moment, I know I’ve lost the battle against my heart. A battle I’ve never really believed in to start with.

A cough upstairs startles us both, breaking our eye contact. We both raise our heads, hearing Victor struggling to expectorate whatever is crawling up into his lungs. I hear Molly helping him to sit up, whispering some words of comfort.

“He’s getting worse,” John says when the silence falls again between us. “The Wish Tree can only do so much to alleviate his pain…”

I hear what he’s not saying.

“You don’t have anything else, do you?” I ask in a soft voice, although it’s more a statement than a real question.

He clenches his fists, all trace of his earlier mirth gone. He seems – is – furious but I know his anger isn’t directed at me.

“No,” he finally admits. “It’s killing me to say it right now, but… In my current situation, if I don’t have any supplies soon, I’ll have no other choice than to confess myself unable to help him anymore.”

We look at each other, the same certainty becoming tangible in our minds – if nothing is done, Victor will be lost to us.


	29. Chapter 29

 John is putting the finishing touches on the Wish Tree extract he’s going to distil later for “his patient’s nightcap”, as he dubs it, when I hear the door of Victor’s room upstairs opening. A moment later, aggravated voices are echoing in the narrow stairwell.

“I told you it wasn’t wise! You’re going to break your neck!”

“Molly, please, don’t you start, okay? Help me or leave me alone, but don’t try to hold me off…”

“What is he doing?” John grumbles under his breath before starting for the door. As I’m closer, I beat him to it, eliciting a light snort from behind me, that I absolutely do not find endearing.

As soon as I set foot on the landing, I look up. Victor is indeed coming downstairs, Molly standing just before him, trying to help him as best as she can. She shoots me a pleading look and I hasten to climb a few steps until I can reach out and put my hand around Victor’s elbow. He raises his head slightly, giving me a glance I’m unable to interpret – is he startled by my help? Or just concerned that I might get even through this indirect contact the same disease he’s suffering from? Which is frankly stupid, since the “no touching” rule has long been abolished and that Molly is always holed up with him…

“Thank you,” he softly rasps out while navigating his way through the remaining steps. John is waiting for him on the landing, a frown on his face.

“Why did you get up? You only had to call out to me, I would have gone upstairs…”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been telling him!” Molly breaks him off, shaking her head.

In other circumstances, seeing these two finally finding an area of agreement would have made me chuckle. However, as Victor huffs, I can clearly see his face, starkly lit up thanks to the single bulb above our heads. John wasn’t exaggerating when he said it was getting worse. I only need to glance at the red spots slowly invading his right cheek, or at the way his skin is stretched over his bones. But the more striking fact, I discover as he turns slightly in my direction, gazing at John standing beside me, is the almost complete disappearance of the Mark on his forehead. I can’t help but stare at this single golden tendril dully shining on his skin. How could it decline so fast? Only a few weeks’ time since I have first come across Victor and he already looks like… that.

“I want to see it,” he replies, waving his hand towards the makeshift laboratory. “May I… ?”

“Yes, of course,” John answers, catching my gaze and raising an eyebrow in a silent question.

I shrug. I don’t know what Victor hopes to find it there, but it must have been pressing enough for him to come downstairs. We all follow him, Molly walking just a step behind him, her anxiety written all over her face as she observes her brother. However, Victor does not pay her the slightest attention. He scrutinizes the room, the equipment spread over the two tables, from the glass phials neatly stored in the little cupboard on my right to the single microscope that John tends to as carefully as if it was his first newborn.

He seems to look for something and I wonder what it could be. I gaze at this room I’ve come to know like the back of my hand. To my inexperienced eye, with its atmosphere saturated with the sharp pungent smells which made me cough the first time I’ve set foot in it and the unknown liquids bubbling in the still, this laboratory certainly appeared like the entrance to some strange kingdom. But now, under Victor’s scrutiny, it doesn’t seem so entrancing or even interesting. I’m reminded that he actually studied medicine at university before this whole mess occurred. He must have worked in brighter, airier and better-equipped rooms than what should have been at best a boxroom before John fit it out. I guess I’m not far away from the truth when Victor slowly raises his head, his expression a mix of incredulity and resignation.

“So. This is it.”

John automatically blushes scarlet at these words, opening his mouth to make I imagine some cutting retort, but it is nipped once again in the bud by Victor.

“No offense meant, John. I know that if it only depended on you, you wouldn’t work in this… cupboard.”

I shuffle my feet at this indirect allusion at Ethel’s negligence – is Victor going to say something against her? Instead he draws a sharp breath, a small gasp echoing in the silent room.

“Goodness,” he whispers. “I’m going to die in this hole.”

A statement which automatically causes Molly to cry out in protest while John blanches before looking down at his shoes. His embarrassment is clear to see and I feel my heart going out to him. I so wish I could have given everything he needed to solve the mystery of Victor’s disease. Instead I’m once more powerless to help him.

“Molls, please,” I hear Victor saying before he shuffles along to John. He hesitantly puts a bony hand on his shoulder.

“John. Look at me.”

John obeys with a wearied sigh.

“Victor, I didn’t…”

“Shhh. I know. You’ve gone well beyond the call of duty, doctor.”

A feeble joke which doesn’t even drag a smile out of John, as he’s staring blankly at his friend and patient.

“Don’t tell me it’s over, Victor. We could still…”

“What? Begging my mother for supplies she isn’t going to give? Waiting for the Father Above to accomplish a miracle for poor little me?” Victor retorts in a firm tone and at this moment, I catch a glimpse of the Alpha he must have been before the illness – someone who was certainly able to persuade you with his self-confidence and engaging personality.

The silence which briefly falls between us as John is struggling to come up with a convincing answer is broken by Molly.

“No, no… I refuse it! I don’t care what you’re saying, I’m going to tell her everything like I should have done weeks ago. It can’t go on like this!”

“Molls, we have already discussed this. If you do this, she won’t let you see me again. She could even put you under lock and key. She’ll stop at nothing if she believes you could pose a threat to her,” he answers, every word ringing with sincerity. Molly visibly deflates, her grief shining in her dark gaze. Victor slowly turns to her, smothering a grimace of pain as he reaches out, holding her hand in his. “I don’t know about you, Molls, but I’d rather enjoy your company until the end than having to face all this without you.”

She lets out a laugh heavy with unshed tears.

“You always had to have the last word, don’t you?”

He doesn’t reply to this, merely bringing up her hand to his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, I see John twitching at this gesture – does he still think about contamination and such? A question which suddenly makes me aware of another issue: if Victor is really saying his goodbye like he appears to do, will it bring about the loss of the routine I’ve had with John? I know it’s a completely trivial point in comparison with what is at stake here, I should be ashamed of myself for even thinking about it, but I can’t stop myself from imagining a future in which John would be conspicuously absent. Whether he tries to save himself from Ethel’s clutches and leaves Victory Island or he remains here until the end, doing his best to keep his promise to Victor, the result would be the same – he won’t be with me anymore.

And this mere thought is unbearable.

I grind my teeth at this prospect as pain pierces right through my chest, my heart being crushed under the weight of reality.

It can’t be. I won’t accept it, I think as I glance at the man who has unexpectedly become so precious to me.

Will he give me the choice of going with him? Or am I just a pleasant distraction, easy to leave behind and forget?

Victor’s voice reaches once again my ears

“Now, if you both don’t mind, I’d like a word with Sherlock.”

Surprised, I just have time to meet his gaze before he adds

“Alone.”


	30. Chapter 30

I don’t manage to meet John’s gaze as he goes out of the room, but Molly shoots me a glance which clearly means “Hurt him and I’ll hurt you in return” before she closes the door behind her.

And so I’m left alone for the first time with the man who is still considered my betrothed. The whole situation is so ironic I’m almost tempted to laugh at all this. Especially when Victor doesn’t break the silence at first. He gives me stealthy little glances, like he’s at loss as to how to speak to me now his wish has been granted. I could be the generous one and make a polite, if not friendly, overture to him, I guess.

Even if a little part of myself doesn’t want to.

He finally clears his throat.

“Thank you for accepting my request.”

“It wasn’t a request, it was an order. You haven’t really given me a choice.”

He looks completely taken aback and I must admit I’m surprised by the sharpness of my reaction. I fight to keep an unreadable expression as he goes on.

“I… Sorry. I just wanted to have the opportunity to talk to you a little, I haven’t seen much of you since you…”

He breaks off, clearly unable to find a polite way to refer to the night Molly and I have broken in Ethel’s house and discovered him and John. As for myself, I struggle not to bristle at the veiled reproach I sensed in his words.

The same one Molly has already hurled at me.

However, Victor recovers first

“In fact, I wanted to thank you.”

These unexpected words confuse me, crushing under their weight any resentment I might have uttered.

“Whatever for?” I ask.

“John told me how you were helping him with his work and… I mean, you weren’t obliged to do this.”

I feel my cheeks flushing at the mere mention of all the nights I’ve spent in the lab. If I’m honest with myself, I was motivated by the time spent with John as much as by the prospect of Victor’s recovery. Suddenly, the idea that he’s thanking me for all this doesn’t sit right with me. The unease I’m feeling right now eggs me on to open my mouth and I become aware that it’s not the wisest impulse in the world when I hear myself replying in a flippant tone

“Well, it’s certainly better than believing your mother’s lie and waiting for you to come back to Victory Island.”

Victor is staring at me open-mouthed and if the silence between us wasn’t so complete, I would have missed his sharp intake of breath. The twisted feeling in my chest suddenly turns into a knife-edged pain, especially when I glimpse a pained glint in Victor’s eye before he looks away.

I guess some part of me hasn’t still forgiven him for his deception, but I didn’t need to say it in such terms.

“Sorry,” I impulsively reply, “I didn’t want to be so rough…”

He shakes his head.

“Don’t be. Rough you may be, but you’re also right. As much as it pains me to admit it.”

He sighs.

“I certainly didn’t think of you when I came here first. I only wanted to find somewhere safe, some place where I could lie low and where John would have the time as well as the means to look for a cure.”

He lets out a scoffing laugh.

“I thought… I don’t know what I was thinking, in truth. Maybe I could heal, becoming again the perfect son my mother has always seen in me, and got Bonded to you before being sent away to war or elsewhere…”

What a charming prospect. But then it’s not really different from what Omegas are told to expect when it comes to relationships with their future husbands, isn’t it? Alphas decide and we follow, that’s what I’ve been taught at school. And right at this moment, I wonder how I have never thought about how unfair, how painfully one-sided our Bonds are revealing to be. How we have been raised and told since birth that we have to be at the disposal of Alphas, how we have to care about them, to feel concern when they’re hurt, how we have to smile and be nice and beautiful and a thousand other things, until the standard we are establishing for ourselves is so high we would never be able to reach it.

And all this for what?

For an Alpha’s love which is so quick to disappear when something goes wrong?

I’m reminded of Molly’s husband, of Violet looking after my father when he was dying, keeping his disease a shameful secret;

And now I’m facing this man who was supposed to be my husband, who was supposed to care for me and respect me, and who didn’t even flinch at the idea of giving me false hope.

He didn’t even think of me.

The worst is that in this kind of situation, I guess other Alphas would have behaved accordingly. Because in truth they’re not supposed to show weakness. They’re not supposed to call out for help.

And they’re certainly not supposed to think of another person’s well-being, even if that person is their husband or bride-to-be.

I know there are exceptions to this rule, Omega Howard’s love story with her husband is certainly a proof.

But I don’t want these tales to reveal themselves to be an extraordinary exception, shining like a rare jewel among a lump of coal. I want them to become a common standard, to be told so often from mother and father to their children that no one would ever doubt that another way to behave in a relationship is possible.

I want respect. I want friendship. I want consideration.

And I want love.

I don’t know what Victor sees on my face when he finally dares to look at me, but he must have perceived enough because he says in a soft voice

“I’m sorry.”

I nod, unable to utter a single word. To think that if Victor hasn’t fallen ill, we would never have had this discussion… But this disease has changed everything, wiping off golden Marks from the Alpha skin, swiftly and brutally knocking down every barrier, every fence between us until only bare bodies remain.

Until we are no different from each other.

The prospect of a world without any Mark on anyone’s skin is like a staggering blow. It could be so easy to live in. So easy to be whoever you want to be, without any limit or taboo.

I’m brought back to reality when Victor begins to cough, his whole body racked by pain. I instinctively come closer to him, supporting his weight as best as I can.

What a shame that it must be this merciless disease which brings with it this kind of gift, giving me the opportunity to catch a glimpse of a future where I could be free to be who I want to be. And with whom I want to be.

I patiently wait until Victor gets his breath back.

“Thanks again, I guess,” he rasps out, not without humour.

“You have thanked me enough for today, I think,” I answer, a little smile blooming on my lips when I catch sight of his surprised gaze. “Is that all you wanted to say to me?”

“Not exactly,” he replies, leaning on a table for support. “I have no doubt you might find my request presumptuous and I have thought a long time about it but I really see no one else to ask so…”

“Get to the point, then,” I interrupt, eliciting a little laugh.

“Molly has warned me you weren’t very patient…”

I decide not to answer, especially since I really don’t know what he’s about to ask me. I feel some trepidation as I try to compose my features. Victor takes a deep breath before resuming

“If…. Not, not if, when I would die…”

His hands are trembling and I can easily see on his face the tremendous effort he’s making not to crumble at this prospect.

“Would you help John?”

My turn to be left speechless.

I wasn’t expecting this.

“I mean, you seem to get on well with each other and I would ask Molly, but they’re not exactly friends, are they?”

The understatement of the century, I think, as I try to recover. Victor shoots me a pleading look.

“I don’t want someone else to suffer because of me. It’s no one’s fault but mine if he has found himself involved in all this…”

His fault and Ethel’s, I think, but I do not say it aloud.

“And I don’t want him to be sent back to Stonewall. This place… You have no idea of what it is.”

For a brief moment, Victor looks haunted.

“No man, whether guilty or not, should endure to be imprisoned here. So… Would you help him?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to reply that no matter how much I’m willing to help John Watson escaping death, I do not see how it would be possible, since I’m only an Omega. But my words, the ones who always were dancing in my mind whenever I was thinking of how much I would like to change things for myself, are suddenly drowned by another voice, a new one.

And it comes right from my heart, finally being unlocked after all these years.

Yes. Yes, I can do it.

I do not even realize I have said this aloud until Victor’s voice reaches my ears

“I know I’ve thanked you enough for today but… I’m grateful for this.”

And I do not think I imagine the slight wistfulness in his voice when he adds

“John is lucky to have you by his side.”    


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And to finish this day with a flourish - at least, trying to! - another interlude.

**CLASSIFIED – LOG EXCERPTS**

**WATCHERS’ OFFICE**

Sprouting Month – 6th – Cohn Island

Dream from Alpha Lenard (Lenard House, 622, Victory Lane)

(...) _My son, Michael Junior, has disappeared two days ago from our house. We have waited for any news and seeing we haven’t received any, we asked his friends about his whereabouts, we’re so worried, can you please help us?_

Agent 078956’s answer: _Subject has been caught out waiting for a doctor at hospital. Has been tested positive. Decision to send him to camp TR02H3._

_Lenard’s family under supervision by agents 052658 and 587444._

 

Blossoming Month – 24th – Bryant Island

Official complaint lodged by Omega Puzo

 

_"The fire has been going on for two nights, it’s becoming unbearable! Especially since this thick, black smoke above Hermit’s Rock is blown in our direction… The whole street cannot tolerate this awful smell any longer!"_

 

Agent 1205478’s answer: _after discussion with officials in charge of camp TR02H3, decision to relocate burning site on a more remote island. Awaiting the final selection among islets in off Fisherman’s Bay._

 

Spreading Month – 13th – Reagan Island

Notice to be forwarded to Alpha Helbert’s immediate superior

 

“ _Alpha Herbert is no longer working at your office. His duties will be taken over by his colleagues. If his absence gives rise to any suspicious signs – repetitive questions about his whereabouts, someone being in great distress in this regard – they must immediately be brought to our attention._ ”

 

Nuptials Month – 1st – Ascension Islet

Notice to put up on walls and doors of Alpha Martin’s house

 

“ _This residence will be put up on a public sale on Nuptials Month, 18 th at 4 p.m. Initial sales price from 100,000 crowns. Any offer below this amount will be immediately refused_.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready for another firework display, dear reader? :)

“My dear Omega Trevor, I wish you a very happy birthday!”

“Oh, it’s lovely, thank you very much for your gift! It’s such a joy to welcome you here…”

If I’m forced one more time to hear this kind of exchange, I’m going to scream myself hoarse.

Or I’ll throw up all the pale green tea I’ve ingested until now on the pristine tablecloth spread over just in front of my seat. It would certainly put a damper on the birthday festivities going full swing around me. I glance at the queen of the day, who has been blossoming under the careful thoughtfulness of their guests. She only stops talking for laughing at someone’s joke or nudging one of her Omega friends into “having a taste of this marvelous cake”.

“Did I tell you my Victor has written to me to wish me a happy birthday? Such a darling boy, really…”

Sitting next to me, Molly lets out a strangled moan. Unlike her mother, whose flushed cheeks and engaging manner make her look younger than her age, Molly looks withdrawn into herself. In a vivid contrast to the rosy blush powder she has applied on her cheeks, her skin is sickly white and the shadows under her eyes do not help either. The only silver lining in all this is that Ethel hasn’t asked any potential suitor for her daughter to her house. A small mercy.

I’m racking my brain for something nice or amusing to comment on when Ethel claps her hands, attracting everyone’s attention.

“I want to thank all of you for your presence here, it’s such a pleasure to welcome you here, under my roof and to celebrate with you this joyful occasion!”

I grind my teeth as an acid taste rises back up to my throat. Maybe I’m going to be ill, after all. Just the look on Ethel’s face would be worth the backlash that I would be sure to face afterwards.

“Without further ado, I invite you all to go to the sitting room. I’m sure you’ll be delighted to see that all the necessary preparations have been made so you can enjoy watching before anyone else the brand new episode of our beloved DreamSeries _The Patriots_!”

Every Omega looks thrilled at this prospect, gushing over this unexpected opportunity to discover the preview of this episode and giggling. Molly shoots me a commiserating look – she knows that even more than the pain the DreamSeries will surely cause, I hate the fact that I’ll be forced to watch it among strangers and not in the relatively safe space of my bedroom. I do not need to glance at Ethel to see my suspicions getting confirmed – I’m sure she has done it on purpose, impressing her friends while forcing me to endure this hardship and thus taking her revenge on me for the letter incident yesterday.

But I won’t give her the pleasure to see me flinch and try to shy away from this prospect. I get up and fake a big large smile as I follow the little group of delighted Omegas to the sitting room.

* * *

 

As I lie down in the very comfy seat, the end of each antennae firmly stuck on my temples, I must admit I’m impressed by the efforts Ethel – or rather her little army of maidservants – has made in order to plan this surprise. The whole room has been converted into a more than adequate setting, allowing Ethel’s guests to believe themselves right into the middle of some great DreamTheatre. As the light becomes dimmed, I’m strongly reminded of the first and only time I attended this kind of event. I remember the excitement beforehand, the almost desperate enthusiasm caused by the Chancellor’s promise echoing in the loudspeakers – “ _Tonight, I give you back the Dream!”._ Eyes tightly shut, I remember how the little boy I was at this time was so proud of finally getting to enjoy something of which the war has deprived me as well as every Islander. The humiliating memory of what happened afterwards – the nauseating mix of smells, sights and sounds invading my mind, the pain drilling a hole in my skull until I was begging for mercy – comes back to the surface.

It won’t happen this time, I’m silently promising to myself.

I let my body calm down and getting relaxed as much as possible while I hasten to find refuge in my mental Room. It doesn’t even surprise me that its appearance has changed since last time I’ve been here – the cozy little room, which looked identical to my bedroom back when I was still living on Cohn Island, in my father’s house, has disappeared, turning into a long, lonely stretch of sand, the gentle sounds of waves soothing my increasing agitation.

I can’t help but smile at this obvious sign that my heart has found a new and beloved anchor here on Victory Island. I just have the time to think that all I need in this lovely setting is a John Watson to keep me company when the Dream starts.

* * *

 

It’s as painful and as violent as all the other times, when I was biting my lip, drawing blood in the process, so not to scream my head off. Liquid fire runs through my whole body, while my head seems to find itself caught in an increasingly tighter stranglehold until it will burst open like some overripe fruit. I clench my fists, burying them in the imaginary sand of this fictional beach. I know it only exists in my head, it nevertheless helps to anchor my mind, stopping myself from being overwhelmed by the very weight of the Dream unfolding in my mind.

I know the worst is over when the cacophony brought along by the Dream – an awful orchestra of voices, gunshots and other sound effects – slowly recedes. I open my eyes and, as always when I’m forced to watch a Dream, I’m greeted with a very strange sight. The episode is being played before my eyes, I can catch sight of the expression on the actors’ faces or when the setting has been changed. But between me and the dream stands now a wall of liquid glass, a protective barrier absorbing the painful intensity of every scene, protecting me from the relentless onslaught on my senses. It’s not ideal, it will never be, but I can at least breathe more easily while I’m waiting for the Dream to end.

Under my legs, the sand had disappeared, but I can still feel it under my fingertips. It may be invisible, it’s still there though, a reminder that I won’t lose myself under the Dream’s attack, not being able anymore to tell fiction from reality.

I’m sitting cross-legged on the beach, looking at Blake, Harris and all the other characters of _The Patriots_. My inability to tolerate a Dream of any kind has since now prevented me from enjoying the stories developed in the DreamSeries. And if I haven’t read before the works of fiction written by Molly’s friends about the relationship between Blake and Harris, I would have found the whole series boring.

Not to mention unsavoury, I think, as I watch Captain Harris taking a poke at an Unmarked slave.

A male, fair-haired Unmarked.

I look away, swallowing hard against the sudden flow of bile rising in my throat.

I know it’s not John. Of course, it can’t be him. It’s just some unnamed character – a slave has no need of a name, after all – just being there for highlighting the Alpha superiority over him.

That’s all.

Despite my resolution not to watch it anymore, a cry of pain makes me raises my head. Behind the glass wall, the Unmarked slave is now kneeling down before Harris and Blake. He’s being accused of having poisoned the only water supply the unit has at its disposal in the jungle. He’s vehemently shaking his head, whispering with bloody lips “It’s not me, I didn’t do it, it’s not…”

His protests are brutally broken off when Harris kicks him in the ribs.

Disgusted horror engulfs me as I’m watching, aghast, these two characters I’ve come to know and love through love stories abusing in such a horrible way this man on the sole basis of his Unmarked status. I’m still watching as they hit him again and again, not being aware that doing so, they are being reduced for every viewer to stupid, worthless brutes while they’ve become so much more in my eyes.

I’m tempted to close my eyes and put my hands on my ears until I can’t hear the victim’s cries. But something holds me back.

Something outraged. Some part of my mind who can’t help but see John Watson in this Unmarked man. A voice which doesn’t want to be silenced anymore.

A voice I’ve heard just the day before when I accepted Victor’s request.

_John is lucky to have you by his side_ , he told me.

Because I see him first as a human being, not as a puppet which is being tortured on the screen without any reason.

Because might is right and that we are living in a society which has based its whole _raison d’être_ on this sole foundation stone.

Eyes wide open, I feel myself getting upset. Getting angry.

Because it’s not right, it’s not fair and it seems I’m the only one who can see this whole series for what it truly is – a sad parody of an old man’s twisted dreams.

A spike of terror drives immediately right through my heart. Did I really blame the Chancellor for all this? Did I really insult him, even in the secret of my mind, considering him, the founding father of our Republic, as a twisted old man?

Goodness. I shiver as I think that people have been arrested for much less tangible reasons.

I swallow hard.

I must calm down, it’s only a fiction, a story, it will soon come to an end. Later, when everybody is gone, I’ll come out of this house and go running to John…

John.

John, who has been imprisoned at Stonewall for being nothing else than an Unmarked.

John, who has suffered, who has been tortured, the scar on his forehead being the proof of his ill treatment.

John, with his bloody, horribly bruised face, who is looking at me right now.

John, that I have promised to save.

Rage is chasing away everything I might have felt earlier – the fear, the dismay, the consternation. Rage is purifying, giving me the much-needed opportunity to focus on the despicable scene.

Rage makes everything around me, even the air itself, vibrate louder and louder.

Rage is screaming in my ears, in my mind, in my whole soul until I can’t bear anymore this wild, ruthless energy buzzing through my veins.

I let it go.

The wall of glass shatters.

Pain tries to drown me once again but it doesn’t manage to touch me this time.

My mind can’t be conquered. It lashes out at anyone who might try to come between him and his prey – this degrading, shameful excuse of a story.

It is filled with a vicious thrill of joy and excitement when it becomes aware that this time, it is not dulled by any debilitating ache. It’s feeling alive.

_I’m_ feeling alive. I can’t be stopped.

And when I look at the scene still unfurling right in front of me, I know what I’m going to do.

I close my eyes.

Imagining Blake and Harris like I have imagined them before comes easily to me.

_My_ characters, who should never have been sullied by the Chancellor’s dirty paw.

I think of Victor, whose Mark has all but disappeared.

I think of John, who is still running for a prize he can’t hope to obtain.

I think of Molly, who was the first one to show me the way.

And I smile.

When I open my eyes again, the scene of torture has stopped.

Blake, Harris, the Unmarked slave – everyone is frozen on the spot.

But what is even more rewarding is the lack of any Mark on their skins.

They’re alike.

Only men without any difference between them.

And it’s beautiful.

Distantly I become aware of someone screaming with rage but it comes from so far away and…

I hear a loud gasp right next to me, in a voice I’ll recognize it anywhere.

Molly’s voice.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do try not to hate anyone in this chapter :)

As soon as I wake up from the trance I’ve fallen into, I know something is wrong. All around me, I hear barely hushed whispers and snatches of discussion.

“… terrible vision!”

“… completely shocking…”

“… can’t be explained, really”

As I’m looking around, a puzzled frown on my face, I catch sight of Ethel, who was seated in the front row. All trace of joy and self-confidence has drained away, she looks on the point of fainting.

“Goodness! What was _that_?”

I turn in my seat, facing Molly, who is looking at me with a disbelieving glint in her gaze.

“Did you see it, Sherlock?” she immediately asks in a low voice, careful not to be heard.

“What do you mean?” I reply, getting unnerved by all this agitation I don’t understand. What has been going on in their Dreams to cause so much trouble?

Molly gives me a slightly pitying gaze, which only serves to irk me further.

“Oh yes, sorry Sherlock, I forgot you didn’t get to watch much of this episode… Oh by the Father Above, I can’t believe what just happened!” she says, a stunned expression on her features while she sinks back into her seat.

“Would you care enlightening me or do I have to guess?” I ask through gritted teeth.

In other circumstances, using this tone with Molly would have earned me a full dressing-down but she barely blinks as she leans on my shoulder, whispering in my ear

“The Dream has been disrupted. One moment, everything was going on smoothly, the next we heard someone screaming and the characters…”

She lowers even more her voice until it’s barely audible.

“They were all Unmarked!”

I gasp before I can refrain from doing it.

“It must have been a powerful Alpha to manage such a thing…,” Molly resumes, not paying any attention to me. “Can you just imagine overpowering the Chancellor in such a way? It’s as good as a declaration of war!”

The truth hits me like a ton of bricks. Not only did I succeed in leading the episode off its intended storyline, but it was also broadcasted openly and publicly. How could it happen? Omegas are not supposed to be able to do that! I smother a pained whimper while this idea fills me with dread.

What have I done?

* * *

 

“Come on, hurry up before someone catches us out!”

I bite back a quick retort while I hasten to join Molly, impatiently stamping her feet on the stone-covered flooring of the terrace.

“I still think slipping outside right now is way too dangerous…”

“Don’t be silly,” Molly chides, already running up the path to Ethel’s house. “The whole house is in uproar, my mo… I mean Ethel is going to be distracted for hours, smoothing her so very important guests’ ruffled feathers!”

Her breath catches in her throat as she stumbles against an unseen obstacle in the dark.

“Besides, Victor must be informed of this. Since he has fallen ill, he can’t receive Dreams any more, I promise to bring him up to date and… Goodness, if there was ever any event worth telling him about, it would be this, don’t you think?”

I don’t reply, focusing on keeping up with her. The truth is I would have preferred to have the opportunity to think about what happened – what I did – before telling Victor – and John, of course – about it. I’m so flummoxed I didn’t even have the time to confide in Molly, at least if I would have wanted it to do it in the middle of an Omega flock. A shiver runs down my spine when I remember what I’ve done.

As good as a war declaration.

I clench my hands until my nails draw bloody crescents in my palms.

Did I give myself away when I involuntarily defied the Chancellor’s authority? I look over in the ocean’s direction. In the darkness only a few lights are shining through, casting their glow over the bow or stern of the warships cruising off Victory Island. Is one of them going to make a U-turn in order to arrest me? Did I just put everyone I care about in danger? Or, like Molly, will they think that a poor little Omega like myself is unable to do it?

* * *

 

Molly and I burst into Victor’s room as he’s finishing his supper. He blanches as soon as he sees us and John, who was spoon-feeding him, is no better, looking alarmed as he asks me

“What’s the matter? Has something happened?”

I would love to walk to him until I can put my hands on his strong shoulders, finding comfort as well as putting his mind at ease with this simple gesture, but I find myself unable to do anything else than nodding.

“Something has happened all right!” Molly cries out before sitting up on Victor’s bed and telling what has occurred in great detail. Victor’s attention is riveted to her sister but I catch John glancing at me several times. He finally gets up, putting aside the nearly empty plate and taking care not to disturb Molly, who is almost through with her tale, comes closer to me.

“Are you all right?” he softly says. I manage a weak smile in reply.

“Are you not interested in what Molly has to say?”

He shrugs.

“I’m interested in it to the extent it may concern you…I mean, all of us. As for the Dreamseries itself…”

There’s an impish glint in his blue eyes I shouldn’t find so fascinating, it dazzles me though and just makes me want to reach out and…

As if he has read my mind, John shoots me a cheeky smile.

“I always found it so boring.”

“Really?” I stifle a laugh. “I guess we’re birds of a feather.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” he replies, pursing his lips and looking away as if I’ve just reminded him of something painful. My heart skips a beat as I start berating myself for saying again the wrong thing.

“When we were forced to attend the public viewings,” John muses, clearly lost in his memories, “me and my mates would always find a way to entertain ourselves, often at the expense of the characters. I mean, they seemed so silly… And the story always followed the same pattern – Mighty Alpha saving the poor adorable Omega from the clutches of some villain, while Unmarked like me were just absent or cannon fodder, when we were not the villains themselves!”

He looks up at me.

“A dull story, as I told you.”

And I clearly feel there’s more in his words than what he’s just telling me, but I can’t really fathom it out.

“Which kind of role would you have wanted if you could have chosen?”

His lips quirk up.

“You mean – would I have wanted to put myself in an Alpha’s shoes, to have a great mansion and a lovely Omega in my arms?”

As soon as he finishes this sentence, he abruptly stops and to my horror, I feel myself blushing scarlet. I’m unable to look at him in the eye, which is even worse as I clearly feel the weight of his gaze on me.

_Say something, don’t stand there like a bump on a log, he’s going to know…_

“I guess some things are just not meant to be, then,” he says in a flippant tone and I would give everything right now just to be able to turn back time.

Before I could open my mouth however, I hear

“Would the two of you care to join us?”

Molly’s slightly ironic voice grates on my nerves but it’s the look on Victor’s face as he’s staring at me and John which makes my heart jump in my throat.

As if I have just betrayed him.

Anger immediately follows in the wake of the guilt threading its way through my soul. Victor never had any right as regards my faithfulness. He may be my betrothed, although it’s a moot point for me, but he’s certainly not my Bonded partner. And it’s certainly the meaning I try to convey in my gaze as I glare right back at him.

Unaware of the rampant tension in the room – or maybe she doesn’t want to acknowledge it – Molly breaks the silence while getting up to pace up and down.

“I can’t stop myself from thinking there’s more at stake than just the fun of disrupting a Dream and upsetting the Chancellor… Oh!”

She stops in her tracks.

“Maybe it’s an Alpha who’s aware of the disease spreading and wants to warn us…”

John, who has moved away from my side thanks to Victor’s look – or was it because of me being unable to answer him earlier? – snorts.

“Why would an Alpha run the risk of being arrested for that? You give them way too much credit…”

It physically hurts to hear him being so cynical, even if he’s right, to see his gaze refusing to meet mine.

_Some things are just not meant to be._

What was he speaking of? Of his future which has been snatched away from him? Or was it intended for me as well?

“Who else, then?” Molly retorts. “No one has the power to create a Dream as strong as this one was. And it isn’t so far-fetched to imagine Alphas are becoming aware that something is happening. For which other reason would he imagine an Alpha deprived of his Mark?”

The impulse to speak up, to explain what I’ve done it is too strong for me to resist.

“Because I didn’t want to let this scene going on. Because it was degrading, shameful and…”

I take my courage in both hands and watch John’s puzzled face as I say

“Because some patterns are meant to be broken.”

The silence which follows is deafening. They’re all staring at me open-mouthed as I watch my words sinking in their minds.

“You told me you haven’t seen anything!” Molly protests.

“I didn’t know that the disruption has been watched by everyone! I thought that it was private and…”

A guffaw suddenly echoes in the room, breaking me off. Victor doesn’t even take pains to hide his smile when he asks

“Are you really saying that you have done this? You, an Omega?”

An icy wave crashes down on me as Victor’s face at this moment reminds me of all the occasions I’ve come across that look – the same look I’ve been seeing when they were judging me, sneering and laughing at me, when the word “Freak” echoed in the school’s corridors.

I fight the impulse to look away. I clench my trembling hands as I hold up my head.

“Yes. It was me.”

Molly is not smiling but the pity I glimpse in her gaze isn’t much better.

“Sherlock, you know it’s not possible.”

“The Wish Tree plant might have some unsavoury effects on weaker minds,” Victor pipes up, sitting up in his bed with a grimace before tidying up the blanket spread over his bed. I absentmindedly noticed the blue-and-gold design on it, the interlacing lines forming the Alpha Mark.

“John, do you remember that study a few months ago on hallucinations and such created by…?”

It’s suddenly too much for me.

“So you don’t believe me?”

I stare at them, each one alternatively – Victor who is shaking his head, as if I was the one mad enough to say such a thing; Molly, who is nervously wriggling his hands; and finally John, who is looking at me with an impassive face, not saying anything.

I have to get out of here. Otherwise… It doesn’t bear thinking about.

I let out a strangled “I see” before turning on my heel and leaving.

“Sherlock, wait!” I hear Molly crying out but I ignore her.

I guess some things are just not meant to be.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill the author, please ^^

It’s a very good thing the wall leading up to my room’s window is covered with some kind of ivy, as I quickly find out when I try to climb up. I struggle to get a good grip on the plant’s trailing vines but I’m soon getting the hang of it and I push the window open one minute later.

I hear Ethel’s voice rising from the entrance hall, trying her best to reassure her guests after tonight’s incident. I’m simply glad she didn’t spot me coming back to the mansion, it would have given rise to questions I’m unwilling to answer at the moment.

I carefully close the window before walking to the bed and sitting on it. I’m hurting all over as if I had been soundly beaten. It’s true in a sense – my pride, my self-worth, my trust in the persons I considered my friends took a grievous battering. It aches when I remember Victor’s guffaw, Molly whispering “It’s not possible, Sherlock”.

Or John’s silence.

I won’t deny my heart is filled with pain and when I was rushing to the Trevors’ mansion, I was also fighting the impulse to make a U-turn and going back upstairs, screaming with rage at them.

As I sit down here, letting darkness and silence soothing my frayed nerves, I realize that even though being derided and pitied has greatly upset me, it hasn’t broken me.

Deep down inside, in a place I didn’t become aware of until this very night, as I lay down in my seat, breaking down all the rules until the Dream got changed, lies something which refuses to be tamed.

Something which can’t be uprooted or pulled down.

It’s a little light, but its glow is fierce.

It has known misery and crushing pain, loneliness and utter terror.  

And it survived.

Even better – it has sunk its teeth into something forbidden, something that it shouldn’t have been able to touch and that it has managed to affect against all odds.

And this simple action has given it – _me_ – a taste of freedom.

A taste of power.

And the confirmation that I shouldn’t take anyone – and least of all, me – for granted.

It’s a cold, hard relief but a relief all the same. I would have preferred to experience it surrounded by allies and friends, with the joyful realization that yes, we have discovered an unexpected way to tell everyone our truth, but if I’m meant to lead this fight on my own… Why should I give up?

Seized by an impulse, I turn on the bedside lamp, standing up before plumping myself down in front of the dressing table’s mirror. And I don’t know if I should take it as a sign or as a mere coincidence, but the first thing my gazes comes to rest upon is a pair of scissors, lying down on the table.

I smile.

All I can suddenly see in my reflection is the swirling, curling mass, this dark fur of a hair I have always been forbidden to touch. These locks I’ve been so tempted to cut on so many occasions.

Well, no one is here to stop me now, isn’t it?

I open the scissors with a nudge as my other hand takes one lock, uncoiling it in front of my eyes.

Snip.

A silky victim falls down as I let the remaining hair go. It gets even more curly, free from the weight of the shorn off lock. And what I see pleases me.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

My hairdressing skills are as awful as I expected them to be but I don’t really care.

I’m not putting any more on the act of the dutiful little Omega, who’s trying to pass himself off for what he’s not.

Snip.

I’m not my father’s son.

Snip.

I’m not Victor’s husband.

Snip.

I’m not Molly’s brother or John’s lover.

Snip.

I’m not even an Omega.

The pair of scissors is furiously cutting, long strands of hair scattered all over the ground.

I’m Sherlock.

And I’m a free man.

* * *

 

When the war against my hair is finally won, leaving a complete disaster in its wake, I decide to rummage around my belongings, quite sure I had a bag among them. Anyone looking at me right now would be convinced I’m quite mad and in truth it might be the case. I shrug off any doubts though. Nothing but lies and deception is binding me to Victory Island or this house, I muse, as I open the bag and start shovelling clothes and other things inside.

I could leave. Go elsewhere – anywhere else, in fact.

I’m young, healthy, quite clever if I may say so.

I could adapt myself to new settings and ways of life. I could travel to the Continent, avoiding the war zone, and become whoever I want to be.

What holds back my hand suddenly is a weight of my mind.

The weight of promises I won’t fulfil if I go away.

You gave your word you would help John in coming out with a remedy, a little voice is niggling me. You promised to help him leaving this island safe and sound.

“Well,” I say aloud in a haughty tone, “John has never asked me to stay, after all.”

He has no right to ask me this. Not after his reaction just a few moments ago.

I ignore the fact that the exhilarated feeling which has buzzed through my whole body has been somewhat toned down by this thought.

Why should I carry on trusting people who consider me as a simpleton? Telling me to my face they believed I had a weaker mind, likely to be influenced by drugs?

I’m looking around the room, trying to discern if I had forgotten something important when I hear small noises behind me. I turn around. Something small is hitting the window glass at irregular intervals.

I open the window and look down.

His face starkly lit by the glow of a lantern, John lets go of the pebble he was about to throw and declares “It’s about time! I was going to have cramp in my arm!”

* * *

 

I try to take no notice of my heart racing in my chest when I ask in a voice which sounds harsh to my ears.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” John retorts before resuming in a softer tone. “Do you allow me to go on board or do I have to talk to you like this?”

The temptation to tell him it’s too late for any kind of talking is great but I relent in the end. Better to let him say his piece first, after all. And maybe it will give me the opportunity to break the promises I’ve made without feeling guilty about it.

I only bother to give him a nod but he must have seen it, because he immediately climbs up the wall with an agility betraying his experience with this kind of exercise.

He has barely set foot inside that he gapes at me before crying out

“Your hair! What did you do?”

“What does it look like?” I imitate him in a snide voice.

John bites his lip, taking the time to put down his lantern on the floor and closing the window before saying hesitatingly

“Okay, you’re angry, I get it...”

I snort. What was he expecting? That I’ll welcome him with open arms? Besides, accepting him here, in my room, brings along a sense of intimacy I am not prepared to face. Especially when he spots the half-open bag on my bed, clothes peeping out from it.

“You’re leaving?” he asks in a disbelieving voice.

I shrug, not trusting myself to reply at the moment. I’m starting to believe I’ve made a mistake in letting him come in here.

“I thought you wanted to talk to me? So talk.”

And be finished with it, I think, but John must have heard it all the same, because he briefly glares at me before closing his eyes.

“I can’t do it like this! Especially when you look so…”

“So what?”

“So ridiculous!”

And without any warning, he propels me along until I stumble against the bed.

“Hey!”

“Oh, don’t be such a cry baby and sit down, will you?”

I find myself complying to my great disappointment. He takes the scissors I’ve used earlier.

“What…?”

“Don’t be afraid, okay?” he breaks me off. “I used to cut the hair for my Mom and her neighbours. Unlike you I got some experience.”

I frown and resolve not to say a word. Of course, as always when John is concerned, my decision crumbles to dust when he whispers after a moment, his gaze still focused on the disaster I’ve created with my hair

“Is it true, then? The… thing you said you did?”

“Why? You’re willing to believe me then?”

“I didn’t say…”

“That’s true. You didn’t say anything.”

He shoots me an exasperated glance in the mirror.

“You didn’t give me time to react! Especially as regards telepathy… I never experienced it, okay? I don’t really know how it works.”

He lets out a small mirthless laugh.

“That’s precisely what gave me away, back when I was still impersonating an Alpha.”

Curiosity gets the best of me. The worst is that my “What happened?” sounds a lot softer than intended. I’m truly beyond any redemption as far as he is concerned. And the slight contact of his fingers grazing the back of my neck or my scalp doesn’t help either.

“I might have known,” he replies with a shrug. “I never talked about it, never said a word about the Dreamseries they were so enamoured of. It was stupid of me, thinking that no one would notice it. Male Alphas are like sharks… Of course you won’t know what it is, you never went down to the docks, I presume. They’re fearful beasts, with their shiny pointy teeth and their big maws. Fishermen told me they can locate a drop of blood for miles around… Well, it’s the same thing with Alpha men. If they sense any weakness, they’ll attack. And I was stupidly caught out. After that, it was child’s play to check any information I have told them before and see it was all but a web of lies.”

I take the opportunity to observe him, the way his hands are so dexterously manipulating my hair and the pair of scissors, the slight frown on his face as he’s focusing on his work. I try to imagine how he was when he was trying to pass himself off as an Alpha, with the fake Mark on his forehead and his strutting walk.

I prefer him as he is now. His raw honesty, his no-nonsense attitude, the quirk of his lips as he teases me, the open, warm smile he so readily gives me…

I heave a sigh. How am I going to go away and leaving him behind in the process? He raises his head, glancing at me in the mirror.

“I don’t know why I always find myself telling you all these things… It’s so easy talking to you.” He chuckles. “When I first saw you the day you arrived here…”

“You saw me? When?”

There’s a rosy glow on his cheeks now as he stutters

“I was… I mean… Oh all right, I was spying on you, okay? I was hiding over there in the bushes and you nearly caught me out.”

I can’t help but laugh a little.

“Yes, I remember. Why though?”

“Victor wanted a description. He was curious… and so was I.”

This time our gazes meet in the mirror. I don’t look away. My voice is barely a whisper as I repeat “Why?”.

He darts out a nervous tongue on his lips, leaving a shiny wetness on them. I can’t stop staring.

“Truth is, I was expecting a pampered temperamental man. Someone who will always say “I demand” or “I require” and nothing else.”

He stops using the scissors, he lets drop his hand, lightly stroking the back of my neck in the process. I shiver. His eyes darken as he sees it.

“Considering this,” I resume, not wanting to lose this discussion’s thread, “were you disappointed when you finally met me?”

He snorts.

“Disappointed? I would have been mad to feel such a thing. Especially when you said my name like that, as if you have known me all along…” He slightly shakes his head, the same impish glint I’ve so often glimpsed shining in his gaze. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

My heart is once again pounding, but I don’t feel any nervousness as I slowly turn around in my chair, facing him directly.

“Why don’t you tell me, then?”

We both know it’s a direct challenge and John doesn’t duck out of it. He’s looking at me like he has never seen something so precious and I’m shivering with want and trepidation.

“You inspire me,” he finally rasps out. “You make me want to laugh. To jump off cliffs and to scream until my heart bursts. When I came here, I thought my life was finished, it was over, that I only got a short respite before being sent back there and… But you…”

His hand is trembling as he rests it delicately on my cheek.

“You make me want to live. To believe there’s a future for me.”

His eyes widen when I put my hand on his, leaning into his caress.

“Not just for you,” I whisper. “For both of us.”

And I’m about to reach out and to finally kiss him as I’ve dreamed of it, but at that moment my room’s door bursts open. Ethel stands on the threshold, a poisonous glare directed at me and John.

“I knew it,” she drawls. “You filthy little bastard.”


	35. Chapter 35

John is the first to recover, removing his hand from my cheek. I should not notice the coldness left in its wake, especially not when Ethel is observing me with such an air of disgusted triumph, but I can’t help but feel it.

“You bloody shrew,” he growls, “you couldn’t have shut your gob for once?”

She doesn’t reply, her hard gaze never leaving my face. I have already seen her angry, even furious, but at this moment, her whole face is twisted with such ugliness I barely recognize her.

“I knew it,” she repeats, breaking the tense silence. “I had really hoped that by letting you come here, accepting you under my roof and removing you from the pernicious influences lying around in your house, I could save you. That your mind could finally heal and receive the Father Above’s gift.”

I shiver at these words. If Ethel was only aware of the irony of the situation…

“But I see now you have tried to fool me with your pretty face. You concealed your corrupted ways and depravity under a veneer of meek obedience. But the Father Above cannot be misled! He has opened my eyes and let me see what you really are!”

Her voice grows louder and she’s trembling as she’s pointing an accusing finger at me.

“I won’t tolerate you any longer under my roof! Go away and enjoy what little time is left to you…”

She’s baring her teeth in a grimace which is obviously intended to make me feel ashamed as well as terrified. Maybe she’s hoping it might push me into throwing myself at her feet, begging her for forgiveness, tears rolling on my cheeks.

She would like that, I think.

Unfortunately for Ethel’s dreams, there is no chance of this happening.

Yes, I’m afraid of what she might do now that she has nearly caught me out kissing John; Yes, fear makes me dizzy, heart pounding in my chest.

But I’m not about to give in to her mysterious threats.

“You’re barking mad!” John cries out, his whole face flushing with anger. “You’re so full of yourself, thinking the Father Above is speaking to you, you can’t even see the truth…”

“Silence, you filth! Don’t speak about what you don’t know…”

She considers him with so much repulsion in her gaze I’m astonished – and a little bit proud too – that John doesn’t even flinch.

“I should never have agreed to accept your presence here… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

She suddenly closes her eyes, whispering in an ardent tone “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…”

John rolls his eyes before turning his head in my direction.

“You all right?”

And I perfectly understand what he’s not saying aloud. I give him a cheeky wink and I can’t help but smile when his eyes widen in surprise.

“Never been better.”

I might exaggerate a bit – okay, a lot – but it’s worth it for the relief flooding John’s expression at this moment. “What do you say we put an end to this unfortunate interruption?”

“Unfortunate interruption…” he repeats, shaking his head and laughing a little. “You’re really something, aren’t you?”

His fond gaze makes me melt. Unfortunately, I don’t get to enjoy it much longer as I suddenly hear Alpha Trevor’s voice in the corridor.

“Ethel? What are you doing… Oh!”

There’s no opportunity for John to hide as Alpha Trevor’s horrified gaze comes to rest upon us both.

* * *

 

We all remain frozen to the spot in a scene which I’m sure would not have been out of place in the most dramatic DreamSeries. I barely hear Ethel rebuffing her husband in an angry voice

“Undoing the harm you’ve done, as usual. I should never have listened to you when you begged me to give Victor a chance. I should have turned him down, there was no hope for him, the Father Above has punished him for his sins and now our very home has been sullied with this filthy…”

“Shut up, Ethel!” he suddenly barks, making us jump. He turns his guilty eyes to me.

“You knew, then.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak right now. To think that the man in front of me had to implore his wife for Victor and John to find refuge here… It is beyond my comprehension. Suddenly I’m filled with so much rage I can’t remain silent any longer. I barely become aware I’m getting up, barbed words rushing into my mind and on my tongue.

“How could you do such a thing to your son? Have you lost any sense of decency to behave in such a way? He came to you, begging for your help and all you gave him was this cold, damp shack in which he has been left to die!”

My room is still ringing with my words when I hear a small pained gasp and glimpse Molly standing behind her parents. She has raised a hand to her mouth, obviously horrified by the scene she came across, but I can’t stop myself, especially when Ethel volleys back at me.

“I won’t hear one more word of your scandalous slander! Take your filthy companion with you and get out of here!”

“Who are you calling filthy, you heartless bitch?” John retorts, laughing derisively at their shocked faces. “Look at you and your sanctimonious attitude… You may call me whatever you want, but truth is, I was the one working his ass off trying to find a cure for your son, washing his face and spoon-feeding him when you didn’t want to touch him, even with a ten-foot pole!”

He takes a step forward, his eyes blazing with fury not leaving Ethel’s face.

“You didn’t want to go to him when he was calling out your name. You, the great scientific mind, you preferred to flee rather than helping us. And when I asked you to provide the necessary supplies, you turned a deaf ear to me! You left us alone, resourceless and you dare to hurl insults at us?”

He spits at her feet, eliciting a strangled cry from Ethel’s mouth.

“That’s all you deserve,” he whispers, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “And I sincerely hope that when you die, your soul won’t find any peace!”

Ethel is left gobsmacked but it’s her husband who breaks the silence following John’s speech.

“Is it true?”

He’s looking down at her, a betrayed expression spreading across his face.

“Answer me, Ethel,” he goes on when she remains silent. “And for once in your life, don’t lie to me! You… You told me you were assisting him (he waves his hand at John) in his work, you said you’ve done everything which could be done to help our son…”

He’s staring at her like a lost child, who has just seen his dearest hope being snatched away from him. Ethel purses his lips, staring back at him defiantly.

“I told you what you needed to hear. You knew very well I was feeding you lies but you preferred to turn a blind eye to this, shutting yourself away in your office with your dreams of past glory! You have no right to blame me, you hear me?”

She turns her head in our direction, letting her gaze encompass John and me.

“None of you has the right to blame me! None! I have dealt with this curse as I saw fit and…”

“It’s an illness, not a curse or God’s punishment!” Molly suddenly pipes up, startling her parents. “And if you cast them out,” she adds, pointing John and me out, “I won’t stay here!”

“Molly!” her father protests, his reaction contrasting with Ethel’s enraged screech.

“Go away then! Do you think I want a daughter who has been unable to stay with her husband and rumoured to be infertile to boot? You’ve done nothing but bringing shame on me!”

Molly visibly blanches but the worst is yet to come when Ethel goes on, a nasty smile blooming on her thin lips.

“You’re worthless to me. Even when I tried to sell you off, nobody wanted you!”

“That’s enough, Ethel…”

She doesn’t seem to hear, her mouth spouting further abuse.

“Don’t you “Ethel” me, you oaf! You’re all worthless, pitiful human beings ruled by their ungodly passions! You’re all begging, crying, coming to me and disturbing me in my work… You should all go away and leave me alone!”

Her cry echoes sharply in the sudden silence falling between us all.

“Fortunately,” Ethel resumes, a glint of vicious joy in her clear eyes, “I shouldn’t wait long for this… I have friends, powerful friends, and I’ll soon be rid of you all!”

“Who are you talking about?” I hear myself asking, being forcibly reminded of James’ handwriting. She shoots me a triumphant look.

“You’ll only know it when it’s too late!”

She takes a step back, probably heading for the stairs, but she’s stopped by her husband’s hand on her shoulder. She immediately recoils, curling his lip in disgust.

“Don’t touch me! I’ve allowed you to do this long enough…”

“And I’ve allowed you for far too long to roam about this house,” he retorts, holding now her arm in a firm grip. “See where this has led us!”

Without further ado, he catches her around the waist, lifting her up off the ground while ignoring her screams.

“Let me go! I’ll have your head!”

We’re all staring at him, completely mesmerized by this unexpected scene. I can’t believe what I’m seeing and even more so when Alpha Trevor shoots me an unreadable glance, telling me

“All of you, stay here. We have to talk.”

I numbly nod as I see him moving away, Ethel’s screams still echoing in the whole mansion.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Battleplan coming ahead - You're warned ^^

The few unfortunate servants still busy cleaning and rearranging the furniture after the party unashamedly goggle at us three as soon as we enter the sitting room. By my side, John shuffles his feet a bit, clearly ill at ease with all the attention he’s getting. I glare at the inquisitive servants until they relent and go out of the room.

John thanks me with a smile before sitting down cautiously on the sofa, as if he expected someone to scream at him for this effrontery. Molly has chosen to sit a bit apart from us both. She still looks stocked by what happened upstairs and I’m fighting the temptation to go to her in order to try to put her mind at ease. But, at the same time, I know I won’t be a great help – questions are buzzing in my mind, each one demanding to be answered. The most important is surely – what is going to happen now? I certainly didn’t expect Alpha Trevor to leap to our defence, removing Ethel from our circle in such a drastic way. What is he going to do with her? Locking her up in a room? Forbidding her to try to contact her so called “powerful friends”? Or will he attempt something even more radical? I glance at my companions, each one looking lost in their own little world. Ethel has been so horrible to them, targeting what she certainly considered their weaknesses, hurting each one in turn in very specific way. She deserves every little thing she has been called today. And yet the idea of her husband ill-treating her doesn’t sit all that well with me. Which is quite frankly stupid of me, because I don’t doubt that if she was in my shoes right now, Ethel wouldn’t have the same misgivings. Maybe that’s because my unease doesn’t concern Ethel specifically, but every Omega who has ever found herself in her place. As I hear loud footsteps in the stairwell, I give a sigh of relief.

A feeling which disappears as soon as I catch sight of Alpha Trevor’s face.

He looks completely devastated. As if he has been forced to commit a horrible act.

He’s gazing at us, as if we could bring answers to his yet unvoiced questions, and I’m not the only one who has noticed it, since Molly hesitatingly breaks the silence

“Dad? Is everything… I mean… ?”

“I didn’t hurt her, if it was your question,” he stiffly replies before looking like he’s crumbling down. “I never expected to find myself in such a situation. She’s locked up in a remote room, I’m going to have to speak to the servants and I just…”

He breaks off, gasping for breath. Molly immediately gets up, reaching out and putting one of her hands on his.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure out something.”

He gives her a wan smile.

“Gosh, I need a drink.”

“Don’t move, I’ll handle this.”

She’s halfway to the liquor cabinet when I hear John saying

“Actually, I’d want one too.”

Molly stops in her tracks before turning round to give him a shocked glance.

“What did you just say?”

“I’m thirsty,” John simply answers in a bland voice. However, the gaze he’s actually directing at Alpha Trevor just in front of him is nothing short of challenging. They’re looking at each other like fighters ready to duel with each other and I’m already wondering if I’m going to have to intervene when Alpha Trevor lets out a light snort.

“Give the man a drink, Molly. And while you’re at it, pour yourself some. Sherlock, you want anything?”

My turn to stare open-mouthed at this man I know almost nothing about. He shrugs.

“Considering the situation we’re in, we may as well be comfortable, don’t you think?”

* * *

 

Five minutes later, I find myself sitting down next to John, nursing a nicely amber-coloured drink while trying not to stare too much at it. I can’t believe I’ve been allowed alcohol and by an Alpha nonetheless. It’s such a small gesture but it’s mind-blowing in truth. I exchange a startled glance with Molly. Half of her mouth suddenly quirks up before she looks away. The whole scene is quite surreal. Two Omegas without any chaperone ready to talk with an Alpha, as if we were equals, without speaking of the Unmarked man by my side.

An Unmarked man I was about to touch intimately a moment earlier. As if the same thought has crossed his mind, John turns his head a little in my direction, just enough so that his blue gaze meets mine. And I just know he’s thinking of our near first kiss and deploring the fact Ethel hasn’t barged in five minutes later.

At least she would have had a good reason to screech at us, I muse, before taking my courage in both hands and asking the most important question in my eyes.

“What are you going to do with her?”

And the tension which never really left this room returns with a vengeance. Alpha Trevor empties his glass in one gulp before raising his eyes to mine.

“Before I reply, I have another question for your friend here”, he says, peering at John, who becomes tense. “Can you save my son?”

“Not without the supplies I’ve asked your wife to provide.”

“And if you had these?”

“I’m not going to lie to you and promise you the moon. I can’t guarantee I’ll find the remedy but at least Victor would stand a chance. Right now, even with the Wish Tree infusion I’m preparing for him every night, he’s in pain.”

Molly flinches at this blunt statement and I see her hands tighten around her glass.

“The Wish Tree infusion…” Alpha Trevor slowly repeats. “It has been a long time since I’ve last drunk it. They used to give it to us in the first months of the war, “getting us relaxed” as they called it. They replaced it later with Subronal.”

It must mean something for John for I hear his sharp intake of breath. Alpha Trevor is looking at him, observing his reactions.

“So it’s true then. You’re a doctor.”

“Close enough,” John retorts. “I was caught out a few months before graduating. Are you satisfied with this little test or should I expect more questions about my medical skills?”

I’m afraid his snide tone is going to antagonize Alpha Trevor but he manages to surprise me again, letting out a little laugh and shaking his head.

“I’ve never met an Unmarked as daring as you.”

“They’re few and far between, but I can assure you they exist.”

I take opportunity of the sudden lull in the discussion.

“You still haven’t answered my question. What are you going to do with Ethel?”

The fleeting amusement I’ve sighted on his features disappears and he heaves a sigh, shooting a concerned look at Molly.

“It seems I have no other choice but to keep her under lock and key.”

He turns to Molly, shooting her a beseeching glance.

“I’m sorry, dear…”

“Don’t be,” she retorts. “She has lost any right to my compassion when she decided to act like she did. Besides, I know you’re not a harsh gaoler.”

He looks a little relieved at this implicit permission and I wonder if he’s feeling right now the burden of having to shoulder all the responsibilities like an Alpha is supposed to do. Having to put on an act of authority and self-reliance he secretly didn’t want to. I’m reminded of my father admonishing Mycroft when we were dining “Behave like a man” or “You’re an Alpha, you’ll act as such!”. I wonder if these orders, incessantly repeated until his mind was imbued with them, managed to deprive Alpha Trevor and who know how many others of the same freedom to think and act I’ve so recently acquired.

“Ethel didn’t lie when she was speaking about her powerful friends,” Alpha Trevor resumes. “If she succeeds in getting in touch with them and spinning her own web around them before I can intervene, we’re lost.”

“What do you mean by ‘intervening’?” John asks. “What can you exactly do? We know that the authorities are tracking down every person presenting with the same symptoms as Victor. For some reason, instead of acknowledging the existence of illness and granting money to their scientists in order to develop a remedy, they’re desperate to keep it under wraps. They’re sending people I don’t know where just to conceal this fact! So, even if you’re an Alpha with a lot of influence, I don’t see what you might do to save not only your son but all of us from their clutches.”

Alpha Trevor does look a bit shaken by this speech he surely didn’t expect to come from an Unmarked, but he replies all the same.

“I can at least give you a respite to let you do your research, provided the supplies you’re looking forward to can be delivered in time. As for the secret surrounding the illness…”

He breaks off, looking totally unsure of what he’ll be able to do in this field.

And that’s precisely when the idea rises up to the surface. It’s completely mad and it will definitely put us in even more danger than we already are. However, as I glance at my companions, I realize we are all condemned to a dreadful fate on a short term. If the Republic’s vigilant guardians have no qualms about abducting people and shipping them off to unknown destination, why would they leave us out when they would come arresting Victor? We all know far too much about this illness. And we have no way to defend ourselves unless…

Unless everyone becomes aware of it.

I nearly bite my tongue as feverish excitement fizzes up in my mind, rushing through my veins. If what I did before can be repeated, I may be the only one who might be able to make a difference between surviving the storm coming ahead or being crushed by it.

And I suddenly don’t care if Molly or John still doesn’t believe me, I think, as I say aloud, breaking the uneasy silence

“I can help.”

* * *

 

I get for sole answer an uncomprehending frown from Alpha Trevor but it doesn’t deter me from explaining

“Did you watch _the Patriots’_ episode earlier?”

“Yes, of course, but I don’t see…”

“You certainly noticed the disruption then. This unexplained scene of Unmarked men suddenly appearing on the screen.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Molly shooting me a glance I can’t interpret. Does she still think I’m delusional? I remind myself it doesn’t matter when Alpha Trevor frowns even more before replying

“Yes, of course. But I didn’t think much of it, disruptions have occurred in the past, it doesn’t mean…”

“It was me. I caused it. I didn’t intend to, I just got so angry when I saw them abusing…”

I stop myself just in time before blurting out “this Unmarked slave”, trying to ignore the knowing look Molly gives me at this moment. I can’t help but glance at John, who is looking up at me with such open warmth I feel myself flushing. He knows the scene I’m talking about, someone must have him tipped him off but I clearly don’t care if it means I can see in his gaze everything I’ve been feeling for him for weeks now.

It takes Alpha Trevor clearing his throat to bring me back to reality.

“Do you think you’ve been spotted?”

“What?”

I don’t understand. Spotted by whom? And does it mean that he believes me? He gives an impatient sigh before getting up and pacing round the room.

“Do you think someone might link this disruption with you?”

“I… I don’t know, it happened so fast. I heard someone screaming before it was over. Why?”

He shoots me an unimpressed look.

“I’ve just told you this type of Dreams has already been disturbed in the past. Did you think you were the only one who has managed to provoke this?”

I stare at him, completely knocked sideways. He can’t say what I believe he’s saying. That’s just not possible.

“But Omegas…”

“Most of them can’t, that’s true.” He snorts. “I doubt that you’ve been taught at school that there are however exceptions to this rule.”

I shake my head, Molly’s face perfectly reflecting the astonishment I’m feeling right now.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing!” she cries out.

“Of course, darling. The very few who have committed such an offence, even if they didn’t mean to, are no longer here to tell the tale.”

He turns to me, a calculating glint in his eyes.

“That’s why I asked you if you believed you have been spotted. Because, if you haven’t…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence and he doesn’t need to. I can guess the conclusion he has come to.

If I have succeeded in doing it unnoticed, then we have the opportunity to publicly reveal everything we know.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you've waited long enough :) Enjoy your weekend, dear readers!

“If they haven’t spotted you, then they’ll certainly try to air another episode pretty soon… The announcement will surely be made any time now.”

Alpha Trevor stops his musings to look at me in the eye.

“Are you sure you want to try this, Sherlock?”

“Yes. But before we carry on talking about this, I would like to drop first a word in Victor’s ear. He’s the one who has the most to lose in all this.”

I’m surprised by the determination ringing in my voice. How exactly have I been turned from someone who has always let the others taking the decisions for him into a person who has the initiative, leading the others into something much more dangerous than skipping classes and looking for adventure, I really don’t know, but as I see Molly’s and John’s expressions, without speaking of Alpha Trevor’s acceptance, I really don’t miss the old Sherlock.

This shy awkward Omega who was only too happy that an Alpha like James took an interest in him. If he hasn’t disappeared so suddenly from my life…

But has he, indeed?

I’m reminded of the letter sent to Ethel, of this handwriting I would have recognized everywhere. If James has indeed started to correspond with Ethel, what did he intend to do? Is it related to me in some way?

I glance at the Alpha who is still pacing round the room, looking as lost in his thoughts as I am. Does he know something about all this? Or is he completely unaware of what his wife was plotting?

I must have missed some part of the discussion going on as I hear Molly stating

“I’m sure Victor would love to see you, Dad.”

He thanks her with a little smile, not looking really convinced though.

“We’ll see.”

“No better time than now!” she retorts, jumping off the chair with such enthusiasm it makes me smile. “Come with me!” she says, stretching out her hand to him. “We’ll go together and you’ll finally be able to see him…”

Alpha Trevor stares at her, looking completely torn between the guilt he’s certainly feeling right now as regards Victor and the temptation to join his son. But, before he can open his mouth to reply, John intervenes.

“Wait a minute!” He raises his hands in a placating gesture when he sees Molly giving him an angry glare. “I’m not going to stop you from visiting him, okay? I just want to know what you intend to do apart from nudging Sherlock into taking a risk for which he could be arrested tomorrow.”

“What are you talking about?” Molly splutters indignantly. “He didn’t incite him to do anything against his will!”

“She’s right, John,” I add in a softer voice. “I was the one who suggested it in the first place.”

“And he didn’t exactly discourage you, did he?” John retorts, shooting me a glance full of mistrust which fortunately isn’t directed at me. He turns to Alpha Trevor. “Even if he perfectly knows what happened to the ones who tried such a thing before…”

Molly looks ready to volley back but his father raises a hand, asking for her silence.

“You’re never one to mince words, are you?” he replies in a mild tone. “But you’re right asking me what I’m going to do. The Father Above knows that it has been too long since I’ve dared to take a decision on my own and even longer since I’ve acted on it. Of course, I will need Victor’s approval but, if he accepts, I’m going to leave tomorrow at first light.”

He turns his head in Molly’s direction. She’s hanging on his every word.

“I’ll do my best to save my son. To save all of you, really. Even if Sherlock doesn’t try to perturb the Dream anymore, even if Ethel stays locked up in her room, which certainly isn’t a viable solution in the long run, you’re in danger. From one moment to the next you can all get arrested. And regardless of my Alpha status and my name, I don’t think I will be spared.”

He draws a sharp breath.

“I’m going to try. Go to Cohn Island and see which sympathetic ears I might find…”

“Try Omega Howard and her husband,” I interrupt him as I suddenly remember Kat who escorted me in my journey to Victory Island. “I don’t think they would turn you down.”

He nods.

“And what about your family? Your stepmother…”

The vibrant “No!” escaping my lips startles everyone. Out of the corner of my eye, I see John shooting me a concerned glance but I refuse to let myself be distracted. I bite my lower lip in annoyance. Why did I have to be so obvious in my feelings concerning Violet?

“We didn’t part on friendly terms, if you see what I mean,” I hasten to add, hoping it would be enough to make Alpha Trevor back off. But, instead of the reaction I was hoping for, he frowns.

“I’m not aware naturally of what has passed between you before you came here. However, I can tell you Omega Holmes was instrumental in the decision your father took when he finally chose to keep the word he has given to me.”

It’s my turn to frown at him.

“What do you mean? Which word are you talking about?”

He heaves a sigh, as if he was already regretting telling me about it.

“I’m afraid that what I’m about to disclose will make you see your father in a different light…” His voice trails off in a way which confirms that it’s really up to me to decide whether or not I want to hear the rest. I suddenly feel like I’m on the very edge of a precipice I cannot see but I know it’s there, waiting for me to stumble and to fall in.

One more step, Sherlock, and your life as you’ve known it will be over.

I look up at Trevor.

“Tell me.”

* * *

 

“You have to understand, Sherlock, when I met your father, we were both young and a bit… Well, a lot foolish, in truth. We were both so proud to have been enrolled in this war, so sure that the victory was at our fingertips. Everyone was sharing this feeling, you know. The drill captains were always repeating that it was only a matter of months, that we’ll be back home just in time to knock our wives up for the Round belly season… Hum, sorry Molls.”

She waves away his apology.

“Anyway, it turned out Natives weren’t so easy to defeat and that war was bloody work.”

John snorts not so discreetly, eliciting a grimace from Alpha Trevor.

“Yeah, I know… Well I’ve said we were foolish, didn’t I?”

I remain silent, perfectly able to imagine in my mind my Dad as the private Blake or as a Captain Harris – a young, gullible man turning into a brutally efficient soldier. That’s war is really about, after all. A filthy gigantic machine slowly grinding men’s humanity and everything they hold dear until there’s nothing left but basic instincts.

That’s what every DreamSeries has taught us. It shouldn’t be such a shock hearing my father being described like this.

It shouldn’t be.

But it is, nevertheless.

“It was… harsh. We were exhausted and… we kept having nightmares. So they gave us the Wish Tree infusion. And when it wasn’t enough, they gave us other things. Stronger drugs.”

“In short, they got you addicted,” John pipes up.

“Yeah. When the war was over, the survivors came home craving for something they couldn’t get their hands on anymore. Anything easily attainable wasn’t enough. I got over it with Ethel’s help.”

He shoots me an apologetic glance.

“Your father didn’t. But I didn’t become aware of this until much later. When he asked me to lend him money, I readily accepted, thinking he intended to use it for an investment. I learned afterwards he got deep into debt with unsavoury people. One of them especially was… dangerous.”

A shiver runs down my spine. Next to me, I feel John shifting in his seat until his leg brushes mine.

“As repayment, your father did promise me a hefty sum and your…”

“My dowry, I suppose?”

He nods, looking ill at ease. He shouldn’t be – it’s common practice for Alphas who got children of marriageable age. So why does it leave a bitter taste in my mouth? Alpha Trevor pulls something out of his pocket. I recognize it instantly and the bitter taste turns into a flow of bile. I swallow hard.

My father’s golden ring. The one I was supposed to have stolen on his deathbed.

The one Mycroft got after his little tantrum.

They’re all fake, I realize. One more little lie in a web of deception.

“He gave me this as a kind of guarantee. However, before we got to conclude any Bonding agreement concerning you and Victor, I learned he was considering another option. The very man he was in debt to.”

“The one you said he was dangerous?” I rasp out.

If one might be able to consider drug dealers as decent men, I silently add.

“The very same. I never learned the specifics but I thought your father was about to break the word he has given to me when your stepmother intervened. From what I’ve heard, she told him that an honourable man always keeps his promises… and pays his debts.”

I’m stunned. Alpha Trevor’s words made my mind reeling. That Violet should take such a risk, going against my father’s wish, scolding him like a child, and all this just to… Just to what, exactly? Saving me from being Bonded to a man considered as “dangerous”?

As if he has read my mind, Alpha Trevor says

“I think that by doing so, Omega Holmes spared you an unenviable union.”

I need air. I need to get out of here and…

I realize I’m already up and moving towards the door.

I distantly hear my name being called out but I can’t pay attention to it right now.

Darkness engulfs me.

* * *

 

I run until my feet are slightly sinking into the wet sand.

I stop, panting for breath.

I’m staring at the night, at this endless void stretching out in front of me, at the stars shining out above my head.

None of it matters.

In a flash, I see myself stealing my father’s ring from his cold hand.

And to think I considered myself daring at this time…

I let out a mirthless laugh.

A lie.

It has all been a lie.

I’ve fallen into a great chasm and all I’ve discovered at the bottom are plastic bones.

Empty promises.

Broken chains.

It’s time to remove the last one which still ties me to my old life.

I tear open the shirt I’m wearing, buttons violently popping out of their stitches.

The necklace I’ve inherited from my mother is still lying on my naked skin. I grasp the ring I’ve put on it an eternity ago.

“You’re worthless,” I whisper.

“Sherlock! Sherlock!”

John is calling me out. Looking for me.

His voice warms me up.

I hasten to unclasp the necklace, removing the ring from it.

And then, without a goodbye, I throw it away in the sea.

“Sherlock!”

I quickly come back up the sand dune until I can see again the lit windows of the Trevors’ mansion. I spot right away John’s outline.

“John! Over there!”

He rushes to me.

“What were you thinking, running outside like a man possessed! You didn’t even wait for…”

He abruptly stops when I put my hands on his shoulders, drawing him closer.

None of it matters in the end.

I’m not an Omega ready to be sold off to the highest bidder anymore.

I’m Sherlock. I’m a free man.

And I’m in love with John Watson, I triumphantly conclude, as I tilt my head and kiss him.


	38. Chapter 38

I always thought, when I imagined myself finally kissing my betrothed, that I would forget everything which wasn’t him. Losing myself in the glorious feeling of being allowed to touch and to be touched. I wouldn’t fret over whether I was doing right or not, everything would come naturally to me and I would be engulfed in such bliss I would never forget it.

I’m afraid the real thing turns out to be quite different.

Instead of the pulse-skyrocketing pleasure I was expecting, a spike of anxiety pierces right through my chest, shattering my naïve illusions. What am I doing exactly, pressing my lips against John’s mouth and keeping them there? I didn’t even ask him for permission!

And at the same time, I’m aware of a myriad of little things I wasn’t even aware I wanted to know about him. The warmth of his skin; the way his lower, plumper lip feels against mine; his stubble slightly pricking my chin.

Goodness.

It’s completely addictive.

It makes me shiver with want, heat rising in my lower body and…

I suddenly feel him turning his head away and breaking the contact I’ve initiated. That’s when I become aware that he hasn’t kissed me back. And it’s even worse when he says, after having licked his lips as if he wanted to get rid of the traces my mouth has left on his

“Wait a minute…”

Heavy disappointment spreads like wildfire in my whole body. What was I thinking? I hear myself stammering a string of “Sorry” as if I couldn’t say anything else, while my cheeks flush crimson. I take a step back, ready to flee, when his hand reaches out, grasping my arm and holding me back.

“You’re not very good at obeying orders, are you?” he rhetorically asks me, his voice gaining some warmth again. In other circumstances, I would have loved to hear him teasing me again, but this time, I don’t think I can bear it. Not so soon after having humiliated myself so thoroughly. I’m ready to beg him to release me when he whispers

“Why did you kiss me?”

I easily dodge the question as my face heats up once again.

“Didn’t you intend to do just that when Ethel caught us out in my room?”

“Yes but… I mean… Dammit Sherlock!”

He steps back, nervously running a hand in his hair. I’m suddenly shivering with cold. I gather the torn tails of my shirt in a trembling hand. I would like to take a chance and run to my room but I’m quite sure John would follow me there afterwards, not letting me rest until I’ve heard him. No, it would be best if I remain here so I can listen to his explanation of how it was all a terrible mistake and how he certainly didn’t want to kiss me.

Or touch me like a lover would do.

I draw a quivering breath, which doesn’t distract me in the slightest from the crushing pain spreading across my soul.

If only I had known.

“I swear,” John says with a groan, “I had a whole speech and everything but… You took me by surprise here.”

I can’t stop myself raising a dubious eyebrow. I may be prepared to eat my slice of humble pie, but there’s no need to rub it in.

“What do you mean exactly? Because I may be totally ignorant as far as love and relationships are concerned, but I’m no blind either! You were certainly welcoming my company before and you…”

John, who was staring me at me open-mouthed during my outburst, breaks me off with a loud “Sherlock!” before taking hold of my hand. Despite myself, the contact of his skin roughened by manual labour on mine makes me shiver.

“I wasn’t leading you on, if that’s what you’re asking. I… I want you.”

Astonished silence suddenly fills the space between us.

“I want you,” he resumes in a low voice, just audible for my ears. “And what is even worse, I do not desire you only physically but… I want everything from you. Everything you would be willing to give me, I would take it.”

I’m feeling light-headed, especially when I feel the weight of his gaze on me.

“Do you understand now?” he asks me. “Do you understand to which temptation I’ve been exposed since I met you? I know I shouldn’t feel this way, I shouldn’t even tell you all this and I’m sorry I’ve been dogging your steps, I couldn’t stop myself, you’re so…”

He breaks off, closing his eyes as if saying all this has caused him great pain. But I’m not so merciful as to let him drop the matter.

“What am I? Tell me.”

He lets out a little laugh.

“Well, to start with, you’re bloody impatient! And don’t pout, you know that’s true. You’re always so curious, so eager to learn new things. To listen to me speaking about my… past. Helping me in my inconclusive experiments, not even complaining when I make you pour some revolting liquids.”

I feel a smile tugging at my lips when I’m reminded of the time we spent together in the lab.

“You’re always there,” he adds in as softer tone. “I keep waiting for the day, the hour when you’ve had had enough of me, when you’ll pass in front of the lab and carry on upstairs, looking for better and more interesting company than mine. I told myself I was a complete fool to believe you could ever take an interest in me…”

“You’re not,” I interrupt. “And I was. Taking an interest in you, I mean.”

“You shouldn’t have, Sherlock, I’m practically a dead man walking. You should have stayed with Victor…”

“Who is also a dead man walking,” I rashly intervene.

He opens his mouth as if to object, but thinks finally better of it. My heart is furiously pounding in my chest as I dare to intertwine our fingers.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Everything when you’re concerned,” he whispers back. “I’m afraid of hurting you. Of inflicting pain to myself. I’m afraid of the time which goes by and which can’t be held back. I’m afraid that we can’t live like this much longer, that some day, everything will be put to a stop and then I’ll never see you again.”

He swallows hard and the anguished expression I glimpse on his face is too much for me to bear. I draw him closer, the sudden gesture taking him by surprise, and clutches him against me.

“Take me, then. Take all of me. I want you to, John.”

He chokes back a pained groan.

“Don’t say that to me, Sherlock. I’m not a good man, I’m greedy and…”

“Take me,” I growl in his ear.

This time, when I kiss him, he doesn’t waste any time kissing me back. He guides me with his lips, his mouth, his fingers in my hair, his free hand touching my naked chest first by mistake, then deliberately. He curbs my impatience, nipping at my mouth, teasingly smiling for a moment before letting out a surprised moan when I delicately bite his earlobe.

“I want you, John Watson. Do not keep me away from you again.”

“I won’t… Oh!” he cries out as I lick his neck, putting my hands on his hips, stroking him through the rough fabric of his trousers. I spare a grateful thought for all the fics I’ve read, giving me very useful tips and ideas for how best to please the man in my arms.

And he’s giving as good as he gets, his hands mapping the valleys and the ridges of my back, pinching my nipples, eliciting a groan from my mouth. He laughs a little at that. However, he doesn’t tease me further. From hot and hard his kisses slowly turn into sweet and languid. A tenderness that was concealed until now from my sight comes into play. His touch turns reverent and, when he finally rests his forehead against mine, his lips barely grazing mine, a single breath shared between us, I know we have fallen under the same spell.

“You realize you’ll never get rid of me now,” he says in a hushed voice.

I ignore everything I can hear in his voice, the very fear he mentioned earlier.

I know the time we can spend together is running out, but now I simply don’t care.

I answer him with a kiss.

A kiss which is also a promise.

_You’ll never get rid of me either._

* * *

 

“Sherlock! Where were you…?”

Molly’s cry, which greets me as soon as I set foot in Victor’s room, is cut short by John, who enters just after me and takes the opportunity to take again my hand in his.

“He was with me,” he retorts, staring at her first, then at Victor and his father, who are looking at us with raised eyebrows. A very embarrassed silence falls between us. Molly flushes to the roots of her hair and I’m quite sure the crimson on her cheeks matches mine. However, I refuse to be cowed or to feel any shame for the telltale signs the moment I just shared with John has been sure to leave on my skin.

I look at everyone in the eye – Molly, who smothers a grimace as best as she can and finally gives me a little smile; Alpha Trevor, who clears his throat and looks away; and finally Victor. His gaze meets mine and I can’t help but feel a little guilty when I spot the sad glint in his blue eyes. I wonder if this sadness is caused by me or if he’s reminded of his relationship with Erick.

“It seems I owe you an apology, Sherlock,” he breaks the silence, looking down at the blue blanket covering his legs. “Dad told me what happened and what you intend to do with the Dream.”

His hand has never seemed so frail than at this moment, clasped in his father’s own.

“I’m sorry I ever doubt of…”

I shake my head, finding out that I don’t really need his apology after all.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s not important.”

“But…”

“No, really. It’s okay, Victor.”

John’s fingers tighten around mine in support – a gesture which doesn’t escape Victor’s attention. He gives a little sigh.

“What really matters,” I resume, “is to know if you agree with our plan.”

He shrugs, his nearly colourless lips quirking up in an ironic way.

“Do I have any other choice? Apart from remaining here and waiting for death?”

A hard, brutal sentence which automatically gives rises to protests from his father and sister. Even John tries to intervene, his voice drowned in the racket.

I remain silent. I hold Victor’s gaze, where a sudden determination is shining. He waves at me with his free hand, silently asking me to come closer.

I gently release myself from John’s grasp, walks to Victor’s bed until I can sit near him. He leans to me.

“Look at me, Sherlock.”

I obey. At this distance, the devastation caused by the illness on his body is even more blatant.

“Look at me,” Victor urges me on “and engrave everything on your memory.”

He offers himself to my gaze, not concealing anything. The spots, the rash, the pallid, sweaty skin, the teeth growing yellow. The way his skin is stretched over his frame, revealing his thinness. The smell emanating from him.

“Remember this,” he whispers. “And when you’ll disrupt the Dream again, give them hell for me.”

* * *

 

When we finally come out of Ethel’s house, the sun is rising. I can’t believe we have spent a sleepless night and even more that so much has happened during it. I squeeze John’s hand in mine and he shoots me a fond glance in return.

It’s real.

Everything’s real.

I’m almost giddy with relief as we’re following at our own pace Alpha Trevor, who is giving instructions to Molly before leaving Victory Island.

Is it too soon to ask John to come with me in my room – just to sleep, mind you – I wonder?

As we’re coming closer to the Trevors’ mansion, a servant suddenly rushes out to us.

“Master! Master!”

Alpha Trevor raises his head in alarm, but his voice remains steady when he asks her

“What’s the matter, Evangeline? Has something gone wrong?”

She bursts into tears, stammering apologies.

“I’m so sorry, Master… Siobhan was supposed to wake me up but she didn’t and…”

“Calm down, would you?” he admonishes her, a worried frown creasing his brow. “Tell me what happened.”

She chokes back a sob, raising wet guilty eyes.

“I’m sorry, Master, but Mistress Ethel is not in her room anymore.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,
> 
> Be prepared for a very loooooong chapter - seriously, I didn't know it would turn out like this... But it's very important as well. In fact, it's one of the key chapters in this story and I'm very pleased I've managed to write it as I imagined it to be!  
> On a side note, I'll be away for the weekend so see you next week :)  
> I hope you enjoy it!

“What do you mean, she’s not in her room anymore?”

Alpha Trevor’s question is completely unnecessary. We all understand what happened – it doesn’t matter how she did it, the fact remains that Ethel has escaped. And one could only image what damage she’s bound to cause in her wake.

John suddenly releases my hand, walks to Alpha Trevor and urgently whispers in his ear, ignoring the startled look of the servant, unused to such familiarity coming from an Unmarked.

“You must leave now. Go to the harbour. She can’t have been gone for long, there’s still a chance you’ll be able to intercept her…”

Alpha Trevor shakes his head.

“You don’t understand. Ethel is way too smart to let herself be caught again. She won’t go to the harbour. I’m afraid she has been seeking help elsewhere,” he finishes, looking significantly in the direction of the Wish Tree fields. He’s probably hinting at the military landing stage, which can be used for ships to berth and loading crates of the precious plant if the harbour is unavailable to do so.

“We’re all doomed then,” Molly concludes with a pained little gasp.

“Not necessarily,” her father says before coming closer to her and kissing her on her brow. “You’re now the mistress of this house, Mols. I’ll leave right now for Cohn Island.” He turns to the servant, whose gobsmacked expression would have made me laughed in other circumstances. “Evangeline, please inform Mrs Wilkes that from now on, she must obey my daughter, will you? And tell her that I’ll know if she steps out of line.”

An empty threat if I ever heard one, but the servant doesn’t know this, eagerly nodding before rushing back to the mansion. Alpha Trevor gives one last smile to his daughter, who still looks a little dazed by this turn of events, before stepping away from her and holding out his hand to John first, then to me. We shake hands silently. It still comes as a surprise to notice that this man, who has every reason in the world to be repelled by my recent behaviour, has decided to treat me as an equal instead. And it’s even more astonishing when I hear him say

“Good luck, gentlemen. You’ll need it.”

A grim blessing, I think, but a blessing all the same.

* * *

 

After Alpha Trevor’s hasty departure, we all go back to the house. The exhaustion of the sleepless night I’ve spent is catching up with me and the sight which greets all of us as soon as we set foot on the southern terrace – the little black-and-white army of servants, Mrs Wilkes standing tall in front of them – isn’t even enough for me to emerge from my drowsy stupor. I hear a few gasps caused by John’s appearance by my side. However, before I can even decide how to react, Molly lays a hand on my arm.

“I’ll handle this. Go to sleep, Sherlock,” she says, shooting a meaningful glance at John, who rolls his eyes in answer. “It’s no good to us if you can’t be ready for the time the Dream will come.”

“Don’t fret, Mols,” I reply, pretending to be much more confident than I really am. “It’ll be okay.” She gives me a nod, not looking really convinced, but I can’t really care about it right now.

“Come on,” John whispers, “it’s time to sleep.” I feel him trying to gently move away. I frown.

“Where are you going?”

He looks up at me, then at Molly, who has gone ahead of us, ready to talk with Mrs Wilkes.

“You hear her.”

“And? She means well, I don’t doubt it, but she doesn’t take decisions in my stead. I’d love if…”

I break off, unsure of how to phrase it. Oh, damn it all, I think.

“Stay with me. Please.”

During one heart-stopping moment, I think I’ve pushed him too far, asking for more than he’s willing to give. Then his whole expression turns fond and he draws me even closer to murmur against my skin.

“I’d love to.”

* * *

 

A door softly closing rouses me from sleep. I blink as I feel the mattress tilt to the side. Immediately after John lies down next to me, slipping once again under the blanket we’ve hastily put on us before snuggling together and falling asleep. I instinctively reach out for him, my hand finding the small of his back and drawing him closer until he’s practically sprawled on top of me. He doesn’t protest though, huffing a laugh in my neck which makes me shiver.

“Everything’s going according to your wishes, your Majesty?”

“It would be better if you’d kiss me now.”

“Right but before that…”

I don’t hear the rest as I sneak in a quick kiss, my fingers running through his hair. His muffled “Sher…” is drowned as I kiss him again, rolling on top of him in a move which surprises him, judging from his reaction.

“Sherlock, what… Oh!”

I press him into the mattress, rolling my hips against his as I tilt down my head, softly nipping the tender skin of his neck with my teeth before soothing my bites with my tongue. He moans and whimpers, burying his hand in my curls, whispering my name like a prayer. I can’t stop kissing him and when I feel the hard ridge of his cock against my belly through his clothes, I sneak a hand down his chest to stroke him just there.

He gasps, then.

“Sherlock, you don’t have to…

“But I want to. I want you, John. Let me feel you.”

I don’t say much else.

I don’t say how I wish to learn his whole being by heart. How I want to commit to memory every hitch in his breath, the way his hands are roaming my back, grasping my cheeks and pressing me closer to step up the friction.

“Don’t stop, please…”

As if I could. I kiss him voraciously, my tongue stroking his, greedily swallowing every sound he’s making. My hand’s inexpertly trying to open his fly – why are there so many buttons there?! – but all I’m managing is getting even more frustrated until he says

“Let me help”.

The first contact of my hand on his hard cock is a revelation. He’s gasping for air, tilting his head up, stretching his neck I’m only too happy to bite and suck, while I’m running my fist in long, firm strokes. The soft skin, the slightly sweaty smell emanating from him, his body pressing up against mine, seeking release, the heat between us…

I love it. I love having sex with this man – or is it making love to him?

“I’m… close… Oh!”

His mouth opens on a strangled sound as I feel something hot and slightly sticky suddenly covering my hand in a few heavy bursts. It excites me even further if such a thing could be possible and I waste no time sitting up, straddling his thighs before opening my fly and drawing out my cock. I nearly sob with relief as I wrap my hand covered with John’s release around it. It’s good, I think, giving it a nice, long tug, it’s so good and I definitely won’t last long.

I feel rather than see John sitting up, drawing me closer with his hand on my arse, while his fingers eagerly join mine in the stroking.

“Come for me,” he rasps out. “I want to see your face when you come. I want to…”

And even lost as I am at this moment, I can hear what he’s not saying.

_I want to engrave it on my mind, on my heart. If it’s the only time we have this, I want to remember it._

I tilt his head up and press a hard kiss on his mouth.

_You’re mine, you’re mine, I can’t let you go, I can’t…_

Even when it becomes too much, when I’m gasping for air as my cock throbs and spurts in our hands, even when he refuses to let me go afterwards, our kisses turning languid and sweet, the same sentence runs in little circles in my mind.

He’s mine. I’m his.

If only we could remain like this forever, I would be the happiest man alive.

* * *

 

“So, before you distracted me with your wanton ways…”

“I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“And you won’t,” he retorts, giving me a brief kiss before pulling his head back. “Molly came upstairs to tell me she has received a Dream.”

“Oh”. I feel my whole body stiffen. John sneaks up a hand to lightly stroke my back.

“The next episode of _The Patriots_ will be broadcasted tonight.”

I nod.  

“Alpha Trevor was right then. They’re looking for me.”

He doesn’t answer, snuggling a little farther under the blanket, pressing close to me. We remain like this, our bodies entwined while the same question weighs in our minds.

Will I be able to disrupt the Dream again?

* * *

 

When John and I go downstairs, the night has just started to creep up on Victory Island. Molly greets us both with a nervous smile, avoiding looking at me in the eye. A light flush spreads across my cheeks as I wonder if she has heard anything of our previous activities.

“I told Evangeline and the others not to touch anything in the sitting room. They have left it exactly as it was yesterday,” she says, setting foot first in the room before we follow her. “I thought that it would be easier for you this way.”

She’s anxiously looking at me and I give her a little smile of reassurance.

“It’s perfect, Molly. Thanks.”

Indeed, if it wasn’t for the lack of any party guest and Ethel’s absence, I would have thought we had turned back time. I cautiously sit down in one of the comfortable seats, my fingers nervously stroking the plush fabric. It seems so weird, being there once again, the same apprehension and fear weighing me down. I swallow back a bout of nausea as I realize tonight is my only chance to be heard. Not only should I be able to disrupt the Dream, but I also had to be strong enough to curb the Chancellor’s raw power so that my voice could be forced through. Silently John sits down next to me, laying a hand on mine. After a moment, Molly does the same.

“I think it’s time,” she whispers.

She’s right. Immediately afterwards, the light antennae push their way out of the seat’s headrest with a soft clink.

I close my eyes.

Once more unto the breach.

* * *

 

There’s no imaginary beach this time, I discover as I slowly open my eyes in what used to be my most precious refuge. My Room seems to have disappeared, leaving in its place a night as dark and silent as the one which has fallen outside. I cautiously glance up, instinctively seeking the stars and the moon. But there isn’t any. No light shines down on me.

There’s only darkness – a bottomless, infinite void stretching away as far as I can see.

Or is it just an illusion, I wonder as a shiver runs down my spine, being already imprisoned without having become aware of this? I try to clench my hands, to feel the warmth of John’s and Molly’s fingers on my skin.

To no avail.

The Dream suddenly starts, the now familiar theme music reaching my ears. No pain blooms in my head, I don’t find myself caught in a stranglehold like all the other times. Everything’s going on so smoothly I’m getting more and more nervous. Like I was waiting for some trap to be set off and catch me unawares.

I’m silently watching this episode’s first scenes. A few minutes have already gone by when I notice a pattern which was missing in all the previous episodes. I don’t think I’m deluded as I watch Blake and Harris staring at each other a bit longer than they used to. It’s subtly done, an unsuspecting viewer wouldn’t see anything out of the ordinary but to my eyes, it’s becoming more and more blatant.

All these longing looks, all these little touches, the laughs they’re sharing, without speaking of their ever-increasing proximity… I look away, confused and a bit upset at the same time. What does it mean? Why would the Dream suddenly show two Alphas, who were never supposed to be more than friends, so obviously affectionate with each other? Does the Chancellor not care about the viewers’ reactions if he keeps up this charade?

I look back at the screen just in time to catch something which makes me gasp.

During a fleeting second, Blake appears Unmarked as he smiles at Harris.

And, as I finally understand what’s the point of all this, I can’t help but feel rage building up in my heart.

They’re baiting.

And they fully expect me to take it and in doing so, to give myself away.

By hinting at any kind of relationship between Blake and Harris without showing it deliberately, they’re basically begging me to intervene. To take charge of the situation, as I involuntarily did yesterday. Except that this time, they’re ready for me. They would detect me, they would find me and then…

Fear is threatening to engulf me, but I push it ruthlessly back.

I remember Ethel has fled, that she’s going to denounce us if she hasn’t already done so and that time is running out.

I remember Victor’s whispered encouragement – “Give them hell for me” – Alpha Trevor’s wish of good luck. I remember Molly’s support, even if she’s terrified, and John’s passionate lovemaking.

They’re all counting upon me.

I won’t disappoint them.

I close my eyes, ignoring the pitiful parody of love going on on the screen. For me, who has held John in my arms, who has kissed him and knows now the taste of his skin, this Dream can’t touch me.

I’m better than this.

And I’ll show them, I think, as I let all the feelings which have been kept in check for so long, seep out of my mind, my heart, until they’re exploding in glorious fireworks all over the screen.

The scene remains frozen. I can briefly sense something foreign and twisted reaching out blindly, casting a net, trying to catch me out.

It makes me laugh.

I smash it to thousand worthless pieces.

* * *

 

When I open my eyes again, the night around me is not dark and silent anymore. I spot countless little lights, glowing fireflies buzzing around. I can hear voices too.

_What’s happening?_

_What’s going on?_

_Why has the Dream been stopped?_

_I can’t see anything!_

_Mummy, Mummy, bring the light on!_

I’m staring open-mouthed at them, my mind coming to an extraordinary conclusion that I can’t quite believe.

Are they really… ?

_Sherlock?_

I whip my head around so fast there’s a pain pulsing in my neck; But all my attention is focused on the tiny flame which is slowly edging its way through the crowd until it dances just before my eyes.

_Sherlock?_

I sigh with relief as I recognize Molly’s voice. I cautiously raise my hand, nudging the bright little flame of her mind forward with a touch as light as a butterfly landing on a flower. I feel her surprise and her delight even before I answer.

_Yes, it’s me._

_Oh my, I can’t believe it! I can hear your voice in my head!_

_Do you see me now?_

Her squealing “Yes!” makes me laugh until I remember why I’m here. It’s not time anymore to play hide-and-seek. It’s time to turn myself into a Dreamer.

A Dreamer who will catch everyone’s mind, even for a brief moment.

On an impulse, I stretch out my arms.

_Come to me_ , I say out loud. _Come to me now and I’ll tell you why you can’t see anything right now._

I can feel their surprise, their wonder. Their distrust and their fears.

_Who is talking?_

_Don’t come any closer, it’s a trap!_

_I warn you, stranger, I’m an Alpha, I’ll crush you…_

_Who are you?_

I don’t listen to them. I don’t react to their threats, I don’t answer their questions.

_Come to me_ , I repeat, arms outstretched, head tilted back. _You’ve all been blind for so long. Let me tell you the truth. Let me tell you what’s going on right under your nose._

One by one, spurred by their curiosity and their concern, they are all coming closer, burning brighter and brighter.

_Come to me. I didn’t break the Dream to punish you all, but to tell you my story. Because, if you could see what I’ve seen, if you could hear what I’ve heard, if you could feel like I feel right now, you would also have looked everywhere for the truth._

_What are you talking about?_

_Who are you?_

Time to take the plunge.

_I’m Sherlock Holmes. Some would tell you I’m an Omega because I’ve no Mark on my forehead. Some would tell you I’m a freak because I’ve been unable to receive a Dream without feeling a crushing pain until recently._

_But in truth, if I’m one thing, it’s this._

A smile blooms on my lips.

_I’m Sherlock. And I’m a free man._

And without leaving them the opportunity to move away now I’ve ensnared them all, I open my mind to its full extent, emptying my mental Room, broadcasting wide and large every image, every sound, every smell it has stored.

I lay myself bare, I do not conceal anything. Everything which has happened to me – the war, the bombs on Cohn Island, the destroyed bridge, my father coming back, the first time I’ve attended a public watching, the Chancellor’s voice “I give you back the Dream!” – is sent away, purged of my mind, floating around in this wide, dark cavern I’ve created for myself.

_It can’t be!_

_You’re lying…_

_Oh, by the Father Above…_

I don’t care, I don’t care, I repeat in my mind, as memories are rushing back to the surface before bubbling up out of my head.

Father’s death, Mycroft’s anger, the ring, Mycroft’s friends, Violet at the temple, Victory Island, Omega Howard, Molly, Ethel, Alpha Trevor and finally Victor.

Victor as I’ve met him for the first time.

_Look at this man. Look at him!_

My voice is full of desperate anger as I call out to them.

_He’s Victor Trevor. He was born an Alpha, even if you can’t see his Mark now. And he’s dying._

Cries of horror and pity echo in my mind.

_He looks awful!_

_What happened to him?_

_Why is he not looked after by doctors? Why is he not in a hospital?_

I smile. Exactly the question I was waiting for.

_Because, if he goes to the hospital, he will be arrested. He will be sent away in a camp to die. The authorities have decided that the illness he’s suffering from must not be disclosed publicly. And you know why? Because this illness wipes the Alpha’s Mark off the forehead._

_You are no different from an Unmarked._

A shocked silence follows this declaration.

_They’ve done everything to hide the truth from you. They’ve put people under lock and key, they’ve lied to you, they’ve robbed you of your rights and your voice, they have even invaded your mind in order to get you distracted while they’re doing their dirty work!_

I ignore the accusations, the insults, the horrified cries as I continue talking.

_How long will you stay like this, blind and mute and deaf? How long will you allow them to lead you all by the nose, as if you were nothing but a flock of sheep? How long will you close your eyes and let your brothers, your sisters, your sons, your daughters, your fathers and mothers out there at their mercy? How long will you still accept all this?_

And it’s John this time, John with the scar on his forehead, hundreds of Johns being tortured in the damp, dark cells of Stonewall. It’s my father dying shamefully, secretly in his bed, begging his wife not to tell anyone. It’s Victor, his body and his mind wasting away, his hands clenched on his blanket, his eyes brimming with tears. It’s Molly, who has suffered so much.

It’s me, when I was still believing their lies about Alphas and Omegas.

And I see a glimpse then of people who are different, who feel as different as I’ve been feeling all my life. People dreaming of another society, another world, who are secretly dreaming of being allowed to live as they want, without any restrictions, any limits, any barriers.

People who have remained silent until yet.

Until me.

I feel their tears rolling down on their cheeks, I hear their relieved gasps, I see the joy finally shining in their eyes as they realize what I am.

And what I’m doing.

It’s for them, it’s for me, it’s for John and Molly and Victor and all the others that I finally screa

_How long?_

A sound so loud it leaves everyone speechless.

A sound so loud it even reaches ears which have until now remained closed.

A sound so loud it rouses the Unmarked minds.

And amid the chorus of questions, of people crying out for answers, I hear a laugh.

A laugh I instantly recognize.

A laugh I’ve heard many times before at school.

_Oh, Sherlock… Did you miss me, my dear?_

James’ laugh.


	40. Chapter 40

_CLASSIFIED – LOG EXCERPTS_

_WATCHERS’ OFFICE_

 

Cohn Island – Nuptials Month 4th – 10:01 pm

“Unrest broken out in the docks area. Mostly Unmarked gathering illegally in streets. Some of them in a state of agitation. Guards have been called in.”

 

Reagan Island – Nuptials Month 4th – 10:09 pm

“Asking for military support. Crowd outside, chanting Sherlock Holmes’ name and calling for changes in government. Guards have cordoned off the governor’s house.”

 

Ascension Islet – Nuptials Month 4th – 10:40 pm

“Crowd is getting restless. Commander Hopkins asking for official approval in order to charge into protesters and disperse them.”

 

Cohn Island – Nuptials Month 4th – 11:20 pm

“Several confrontations between Unmarked protesters and guards have been reported. Unrest spreading to other areas. Attempts to cordon off the crowd have failed. Military support has been called in.”

 

Cohn Island – Nuptials Month 4th – 11:45 pm

“Senior Agent 0523369 sent to Chancellery. Chancellor has declared himself unavailable. Waiting for orders.”

 

Bryant Islet – Nuptials Month 5th – 00:30 am

“Many incidents have been reported. Windows smashed, shops plundered, carriages have been intercepted on the road and their passengers have been attacked. Crowd’s hostility remains set against authorities though; Guards reported injured. Military support has been called in.”

 

Cohn Island – Nuptials Month 5th – 01:25 am

“Senior Agent 0523369 still at Chancellery. Chancellor still unavailable. No one seems to be able to tell any news.”

 

Cohn Island – Nuptials Month 5th – 02:00 am

“Agents 0478889 and 0569872 sent to Holmes’ house. House has been searched but Omega Violet and her son, Mycroft, have fled. Guards looking for them.”

 

Ascension Islet – Nuptials Month 5th – 02:50 am

“Military reinforcement urgently needed. Commander Hopkins still waiting for official approval. Troops position have become untenable.”

 

Cohn Island – Nuptials Month 5th – 04:40 am

“Fires have broken out in several areas all over the island. Unmarked refusing to go to work. Omegas have been seen helping them eluding guards. Guards have charged into crowd on several occasions. 45 injured and 19 dead persons yet.”

 

Cohn Island – Nuptials Month 5th – 05:20 am

Official declaration from Chancellor’s Office to be forwarded to all Watcher’s Offices

“Our beloved Chancellor remains unfortunately unavailable. Let’s all hope for his swift recovery! In his absence, I’ll take all the decisions.

Signed: James Moriarty.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers!
> 
> A quick note before letting you all enjoy this chapter (although "enjoy" may not be the right word... Remember, don't kill the author!" ) This story is nearly finished! The few remaining chapters should be written before the end of the year and of course, I'm very excited at this prospect. Once again thank you all for your support, I wouldn't have done all this without you!

“Let’s go to the beach.”

We’re all gathered in Victor’s room, watching the sunrise with bleary eyes and quietly talking between ourselves – although there’s not much to tell. Now that the cat’s out of the bag – a stock phrase I learned from John this morning, to his great amusement – we have no other choice but to wait for the authorities’ reaction.

I can only guess what it’ll mean for all of us.

“I’m sorry, Vic, what did you say?” Molly asks, smothering a yawn behind her hand. The events of these last days have completely perturbed our sleeping cycles, but it’s the least of our worries. I glance at John, who is still sound asleep against my shoulder. He tried to resist until one hour ago, when I finally convinced him to lean against me and to close his eyes.

“I won’t fall asleep, mind you, just getting some rest!”

Sure, I think, smiling fondly at him before tilting my head down and brushing my lips against his brow. My John, my fierce protector, his hand never leaving mine while I was battling against the Chancellor’s Dream last night; I know I’ll always remember his first words as soon as I wake up from my trance, James’ mocking laugh still echoing in my mind.

“I saw you. I heard you. You were amazing.”

My John, this perfectly unpredictable man. There’s still so much to discover about him. And I have so little time to do so.

“I said, let’s go to the beach.”

I glance up at Victor, who is staring at me and John. A forlorn smile was creasing his mouth but, before I can blink, it disappears. Determination is shining in Victor’s blue eyes as he goes on

“If it’s my last day here, I don’t want to waste it lying down in this room.” He looks at Molly. “Do you remember, Mols, when we used to spend hours and hours on the beach, looking for crabs and other little beasts?”

“I especially remember how we always managed to get sunburnt in the process!” she replies with an amused snort.

“Mother always scolded us so hard…” he adds before abruptly shutting up. An awkward silence follows, only interrupted by John’s little snores. Wait until I tell you that, I promise myself. Right now, I don’t want to budge an inch, but one look at Victor’s strained face, his hands clenching his blanket, is enough to make me change my mind.

“That’s a nice idea,” I softly say. “I think we all deserve a break, don’t you agree?”

A question which is wholly inappropriate in this context, as if we were pupils who have studied so hard and not rebels waiting for the soldiers to arrest them. However, when I see the smile it draws from Molly and the grateful look Victor shoots me, I know we’re all on the same page.

Determined to enjoy this very last day until it ends.

* * *

 

“Come on, Mister Grumpy!” I whisper in John’s ear, as he groans and tries to bury his face in my neck – a gesture I would have found completely adorable in other circumstances. “Don’t tell me you’re not willing to spend a few hours in the sunshine…”

He manages to open a single eye to glare at me.

“Who are you calling ‘grumpy’ hum?” he retorts before leaning abruptly in and pressing a hard kiss on my mouth. A kiss which is swiftly followed by several others. When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless.

“If that’s your idea of a punishment…” I feebly joke, trying to calm me down enough in order to get up and join the others, who are certainly waiting for us outside. John doesn’t reply. Instead he puts an arm round my waist, drawing me closer. I can smell the soft, slightly sweaty scent emanating from him and I’m strongly reminded of the last time we both woke up in my bed. My blood stirs up at this thought. I raise my hand, thread my fingers into his short hair. I feel his wet sigh against my skin. We remain like this for a few moments, letting the warmth of our bodies, the regular thumps of our heartbeats enfold us into a cocoon whose current sweetness is intermingled with bitter dread when I think of what it’s going to happen.

“John…”

“Don’t,” he replies, gently moving away from my embrace. “Don’t, please,” he whispers, putting his forefinger on my lips. “Otherwise I’ll sorely be tempted to go to the harbour, steal whatever ship is moored there and setting sail.”

I let out a small giggle.

“And you’ll become the dreadful pirate Watson!”

“Yes. And you’ll be my willing captive,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows in a frankly ridiculous manner, “bound hand and foot in my cabin, ready to be ravished when I think fit to do it… Ow!”

“That’s all you deserve, you second-rate pirate,” I whisper in his ear, soothing with my tongue the sharp little nip I gave his neck. “As if I would be anywhere but by your side…”

I feel rather than I see his smile.

“You’re right, I much prefer this plan,” he replies before drawing me into a fiery, ardent kiss. A small whine escapes my throat as I kiss him back with the same intensity, the same passion emphasizing his every gesture – his hand reverently stroking my neck, his fingers in my hair, his tongue mapping out the inside of my mouth…

I need him.

I want him in any way I may have him.

In any way he’s willing to give himself.

A need so great I’m shaking with it. All my thoughts are consumed with this burning desire, I pull John closer until he’s practically sitting in my lap, my hands roving all over his body, kissing him until my lips are raw. I moan when I feel him harden against my belly. I spread my legs and my fingers are already stroking him through the fabric, trying to open his fly, when he suddenly pulls back.

“Wait, wait!”

“What?” I automatically retort, putting my hands on his hips and refusing to let him move further away. “Don’t tell me you don’t want it, I can feel…”

He puts again a finger on my lips and I’m tempted to bite him this time.

“Shhhh. Of course, I want you. As if there was another option.”

“Then why…” I manage to say before I’m shushed again.

“Because I don’t want this to be a quick, rushed affair. I want to take my time with you. Exploring you, discovering what makes you moan and gasp…”

His touch turns soothing and I give a sigh. In his gaze, I can read the same thought running in little circles in my mind – this may well be the only opportunity we have to have sex with each other. I’m ready to protest, to push him when I catch a determined gleam in his eyes.

He’s determined to be hopeful. To believe we have a future together.

I want you to believe in us, he’s silently saying, and I feel myself surrender.

Without a word, I pull him in a close embrace, enjoying the weight of his body against mine.

“Besides,” he suddenly says, “I don’t have any second skin with me.”

It takes me a few seconds before cottoning on. I can’t help but laugh when I finally understand and it’s even worse when John pulls back, a puzzled frown on his lovely face.

“It’s no laughing matter!” he scolds me.

“I know!” I answer before leaning in for a quick kiss. “But I won’t accept this next time, I’m warning you. You better be prepared next time!”

The playful pinch on my backside, when it comes, is wholly expected.

* * *

 

When we finally go down to the beach, we find a marvellous feast waiting for us. While John and I were busy with each other, Molly has apparently ordered the servants to empty every shelf of the pantry and the cellar of their contents and to bring them here, spread in all their mouth-watering glory on the tablecloths. Victor is openly laughing at our faces and John looks so awe-struck I’m afraid he has been definitely rendered speechless.

“I’ve never seen so much food in my whole life!” he cries out.

Before I can react, Victor calls out to us, raising his already half-empty glass.

“Come over here, you two, you’ve got to try this!”

And it’s the start of a perfect, beautiful day.

We sit together, laugh together, gorging ourselves with delicious food until our bellies are about to burst. Cool, bubbly drinks are fizzling on my tongue, making my head spin. It has the unexpected advantage of pushing John to press hard little needy kisses on my mouth, which makes Molly giggle so much at our silliness she gets hiccups.

Victor is the loudest voice of our little group, raising his glass and toasting everyone and everything – from John and the blazing sun to the blue, brilliant sea just in front of us.

And when he finally gets enough, he suddenly cries out

“Let’s go swimming!”

“But we don’t have any… hips!…bathing suits!” Molly protests.

There’s a moment of shocked silence during which we’re all pondering this great mystery, and suddenly Victor is laughing out loud, laughing so much he’s nearly bent in two and running the very real risk of throwing up.

When he manages to calm down, he replies

“Who needs a bathing suit, Mols?”

Molly looks a little puzzled by this until she finally shrugs.

“Ok, you win. Let’s go swimming in our clothes!”

And that’s exactly what happens, when we finally get rid of every unneeded garment, leaving only what’s necessary to protect our modesty. It’s funny how each of us is trying his best not to catch the others’ eye, taking quick peeks instead at our naked skins.

Molly’s is s white as mine, while John’s is a bit more tanned, the golden skin on his neck and hands a sharp contrast with the other, paler expanse of his skin. After having undressed himself, he’s currently helping Victor and I shamelessly take this opportunity to ogle him. When he catches me in the act, he shoots me a flirty, dirty little wink and I have never wanted anyone so much in my whole life.

“Come on!” Molly calls us out, having gone ahead of us, the water already reaching her waist. “Come on!”

I watch Victor trying his hardest to rush to the sea, John hovering behind him, ready to come to his help.

I watch Molly splashing herself before diving in head first.

I watch their smiles and their happy faces, I hear their laughs and their excited voices. I close my eyes, take a deep breath. I wish with all my heart I could take them and engrave them on my heart, my very own soul until all this happiness, this joy could become a part of myself.

“Sherlock!”

“Sherlock! Come on!”

I open my eyes again. They’re all waiting for me, waving at me to join them.

At this moment, I feel so much love for all of them, for their brave souls, for their determination to be happy and free, to become finally themselves I could cry with bliss.

Instead I rush into the sea, water splashing my bare legs. Salty drops bloom on my lips and I let John lick all of them when I finally reach him.

* * *

 

We’re watching the sun going down, casting a last fiery glow on the darkening waves. We’re all shivering a little bit in our not totally yet dry clothes, but I don’t really complain since it gives me the best opportunity to snuggle beside John. A tense, bittersweet silence has engulfed us all since we’ve come out of the water. Even Victor remains mute, clenching and unclenching his hands in the sand at his feet. Molly has left us to give last minute orders to Mrs Wilkes and I find myself anxiously waiting for her to come back. Judging from Victor’s increasingly worried glances, I’m not the only one.

When we finally glimpse her going out of the Trevors’ house and running back to us, I feel a deep relief. John raises his arm, drapes it over my shoulders in order to hold me close.

If only we could stay like this forever.

A wish which is automatically shattered, broken into a thousand pieces when Molly falls on her knees near us, nearly breathless, her face the very picture of misery.

“I’ve just seen them on the road leading to our house,” she whispers. “They’re… coming.”

I hear Victor’s hitch in his breath. John stiffens besides me. Panic engulfs me, shivers running down my spine.

They’re coming.

Molly bursts into tears.

“I don’t… want…”

I don’t know which one of us moves first and it doesn’t really matter. I soon find myself being drawn into a close embrace, a gigantic hug. All four of us refusing to let go of the other, creating a tight little ball of love and light against the dark wave which is about to crush us with all its might.

I feel Molly’s tears, I hear Victor’s shaky intakes of breath, I see John’s defiant look.

“I love you all,” I whisper against salty, sweaty skin.

“I love you too.”

“Me too.”

“I love you all.”

I close my eyes.

I refuse to see the dark wave coming closer, rushing to us, ready to drown us all.

I refuse to hear harsh voices, footsteps pounding on the sand.

I refuse to look at their triumphant faces, perfectly aware that they’ve won this round.

“I love you, I love you, I love…”

But my prayer is powerless against brute force.

Bang!

The wave has found us.

Bang!

I’m violently pulled away, an anguished cry escaping my lips.

Bang!

I see their arms raising, their batons hitting my friends.

My John.

I’m screaming.

“Not this one,” I hear. “He’s to be delivered safe and sound. Do what you want with the others.”

The last thing I see is the inside of a black bag before it comes rushing down on me.

The dark wave has found us.


	42. Chapter 42

_I watch their smiles and their happy faces, I hear their laughs and their excited voices. I close my eyes, take a deep breath. I wish with all my heart I could take them and engrave them on my heart, my very own soul until all this happiness, this joy could become a part of myself._

_“Sherlock!”_

_“Sherlock! Come on!”_

_I open my eyes again. They’re all waiting for me, waving at me to join them._

_Victor, Molly._

_John._

“John!” I wake up, gasping his name.

My heart is furiously pounding in my chest, but this time no exhilaration is running through my veins. A deeply anchored fear has replaced it and it becomes even worse when I’m remembering the last images my eyes have caught before my whole head has been engulfed in this black bag.

Soldiers landing terrible blows to my friends.

My John.

I bite hard on my lip. The warm taste of blood trickles down in my mouth.

My whole body is shaking with cold, but it’s nothing compared to the pain I’m feeling when I think of my loved ones.

The very persons I was supposed to save – or at least give them a chance to escape unscathed – and I did nothing but lead them to their doom. How could it go so wrong?

_Stop!_ A voice is screaming in my mind. _Stop it!_

But I can’t.

Pain is flaying me alive, racking me from head to toe until I’m sure my heart is about to burst open. Everything I’ve built, everything I’ve come to rely upon, cracking, crumbling and tumbling down until there’s nothing left.

_Here lies Sherlock Holmes, who betrayed his friends and his lover._

_A man who wasn’t able to protect everything he held dear._

_A man who was a total and utter failure._

Sobs are torn out of my throat, tears and snot are running down my cheeks and lips.

There’s nothing left, I think, as I feel myself descending into darkness.

* * *

 

Cold wakes me up.

I open crusty, aching eyes.

The bag covering my head has not yet been removed.

Stifling darkness greets me.

I try to move a little – to no avail.

All the things I’ve ignored the first time I came to my senses, losing myself in useless despair, are now flooding in my mind. They’re trickling in slowly, like the cold is seeping in my whole body, stiffening my muscles and anaesthetizing my skin, but I’m clinging to them.

Because every little information, every little discovery about where I am and the state I’m in ties me a bit more to life.

I’m still alive.

They didn’t kill me.

I’m trying hard to ignore the memory coming back to my mind – “ _He’s to be delivered safe and sound. Do what you want with the others_.”

If I was to be kept alive, it meant they wanted me for something.

Or they wanted me to do something.

It also implies that I might have the possibility, as tiny as it might be, to speak with whoever is holding me prisoner here. I might even manage to strike a bargain with him.

Three lives against whatever they want me to accomplish.

I’m doing my best to convince myself of it. To keep at bay the other, disastrous idea growing in my mind like some dark plant, feeding on my fear and grief – what if they were keeping me alive long enough so I could watch the slow, terrible death of everyone I love?

Time is slowing down.

Every minute is an eternity.

My body is racked with spasms, due to the aching cold and the strong straps around my hands and feet.

I’m gritting my teeth.

I must think, I must be prepared for the very moment they will come to me. I’m quite sure they will believe they have won this war. They will expect to find me terrified and broken down, a panicked little Omega who will do what they bid him.

I must take advantage of the fact they will be prejudiced against me, considering me weak and hopeless, never thinking that I might plot against them.

I must outsmart them, wriggling back into my old Omega skin, putting on an act until it will be time to attempt to save the lives of my friends.

Trying to save them or dying with them.

There’s no other choice.

* * *

 

I must have dozed off, I find out when I suddenly wake up from the troubled dreams invading my mind. I strain my ears to hear whatever has roused me from sleep.

Hope is fluttering in my chest.

Please let them come to me.

Please.

I can’t bear the prospect of being kept here for hours, days – maybe weeks.

I can’t wait any longer for whatever task – or punishment – the Chancellor’s lackeys get in store for me.

Please, let something happen, let me be free of this hell, please, please…

That’s when I hear it.

It’s almost inaudible, but I feel myself slowly attuning my breathing to it until it’s all I can hear.

There’s someone in my cell – or whatever they’re holding me prisoner in.

Whoever he is, he’s close.

Softly breathing.

Watching me.

Waiting for me to notice him.

Endless, excruciating minutes elapse and I’m about to scream because I can’t bear it any more, when a merry laugh suddenly breaks the silence.

Before I can react, I hear footsteps coming closer. I feel someone bending down to me before fingers are grasping the bag still covering my head.

The dark fabric briefly strokes my skin.

Harsh light blinds me. I try to blink my tears away.

I hear a chuckle.

I open my eyes and look up.

James is smiling at me.

“Hello, Sherlock.”


	43. Chapter 43

I stare at him.

I realize at this moment how lost in my own little world I’ve been until now.

What a fool I’ve been all along.

All these clues scattered right under my nose, crumbs on the path leading me straight away to him. Fireflies glowing in the dark, laughing at me and my wilful ignorance.

Because it’s true – I’ve ignored all the signs pointing at him.

I’ve refused to deduce what his letter to Ethel means; the reason I’ve heard his laugh when I disrupted the Dream.

And all this because I didn’t want to believe that the first friend I’ve made, the boy I’ve had a crush upon has turned against me.

James is staring back at me.

His dark gaze doesn’t waver.

I feel myself flushing when I remember how this gaze used to captivate me.

_Fool, fool, stupid fool!_

I silence it immediately. I have no time to waste beating my breast.

“James,” I hear myself croaking.

His smile gets even wider.

“I see you haven’t forgotten me,” he softly says before kneeling.

For a terrible, heart-stopping moment, I’m afraid he’s going to touch me, whether motivated by violence or… other things, but he simply leans in until his fingers brush my hand.

“I think you’d be more comfortable with these things off,” he whispers, a trace of amusement in his voice. I only nod, my mind too befuddled to react in any other way, even when I hear the light click of his flick-knife.

One minute later, after some tugging on the straps restraining me, bruising even more my skin in the process, I finally feel my hands being untied. A small whimper is drawn out of my throat while James busies himself getting my legs free.

“There you are, it’s over!” he cries out before rushing to help me as I try to get up. “Calm down, Sherlock! There’s no hurry…”

The pins and needles in my legs are less hurtful than these simple words.

But it gives me the perfect opportunity to snap out of the dazed trance which has engulfed me when I first glimpsed James.

“What do you mean, ‘there’s no hurry’? It may have escaped your notice, but we’re in a prison!”

James looks at me, an expression of sincere surprise on his face, before he bursts out laughing. A sound which reminds me of all the times I’ve heard it, when we were still youngsters joined at the hip, wandering through the school and dreaming of risky adventures.

I shake my head, clearing my mind.

I’m not that person anymore.

James finally calms down.

“Sherlock, where do you think we are?” he asks, cupping his hands round my elbows as I try to get up on my still wobbling legs.

“I don’t know… Stonewall?” I answer, hearing the hitch in my breath and hating myself a little for it.

James doesn’t seem to notice; he shakes his hand instead.

“You’re wrong, my dear.”

“Where are we, then?” I retort, doing my best to ignore his term of endearment.

A sly smile blooms on his lips; There’s a familiar, mischievous glint in his eyes which makes my heart beat a bit faster.

“Come with me, Sherlock. I have a gift for you.”

He leans in and I fight the impulse to pull back.

“I promise you will love it!”

* * *

 

James is right, I think as I shuffle out of the room where I’ve been held prisoner. Under my feet I find smooth concrete and not the legendary dark red stone of Stonewall, which is rumoured to be able to suck the prisoners’ blood spilled on it in order to have obtained this unusual colour.

James hasn’t released me, wrapping instead his arm round my waist and his other hand holding my wrist. I try to ignore the slight tremor occurring in my whole body and caused by his proximity. A thousand questions are buzzing in my mind, but the deep silence in the corridors we’re going through deters me from asking them aloud. Besides, I’m not sure James will answer them. He’s humming an unknown melody under his breath, acting as if he hasn’t a care in the world. But then, he has always been good at pretending, I think, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.

I have to focus on what’s important.

John, Molly, Victor.

Alpha Trevor.

Are they all here somewhere? Their hands and feet bound, a black bag on their heads, silently asking where they’ll be released? My heart is aching at this thought.

I’m the only one who can help them, I remind myself.

So I better watch out. And learn anything which might be useful to me.

* * *

 

We’re walking in silence for minutes now when we finally reach a closed door. I gasp as I recognize, painted on the steel, the Chancellor’s own seal. James, who has finally released me, is smiling when I turn to him, surprise written on my face.

“I told you we weren’t at Stonewall.”

“Yes, but… It can’t be… I mean, we’re not…”

“At the Chancellery? Yes, we are.”

“But…”

He doesn’t laugh or even smile as I goggle at him, unable to believe what I just heard.

“You’ve got nothing to be afraid of, Sherlock. I promise.”

His voice is as smooth as the whisper of silk against my skin.

“You do trust me, don’t you?”

I swallow heavily, not even surprised to find that my mouth is dry.

“Of course.”

He smiles at me before taking my hand once again in his and nudging me forward.

“Come on, then.”

* * *

 

Despite James’ declarations, I half expect a guard springing up, his baton already raised as he tries to stop us, when we push the door open.

But nothing happens and I set foot in what is surely the most lavishly decorated room I’ve ever seen. From the parquet which has been so well polished you could use it as a mirror if you so choose to the high walls covered with white and gold paint, where the triangles turned upside down, symbolizing Cohn’s ascension to the paradise, freely abound, everything is designed to amaze and stun into silence the visitor.

I am not so astonished however as not to remark that there are no windows in this room and that the only other access, apart from the door we have just closed behind us, is located at the other end of what appears more and more like a dragon’s den.

“A bit tacky, don’t you think?” James remarks, gazing around with a contemptuous air. “It shows a complete lack of imagination. And all this glitter is giving me a headache. Really, when I…”

“James!”

I didn’t mean to snap but all this discussion is becoming way too surreal for me.

“What are we doing exactly? Why is there nobody here? If we really are at the Chancellery…” I abruptly stop.

James, who has been startled when I broke him off, chuckles.

“What an impatient little thing you still are! But, after all, I did promise you a surprise…”

He tightens his grip on my hand, dragging me along as he used to do when we were younger.

“Come!”

And I automatically comply.

* * *

 

We’re rushing through a row of rooms, doors bursting open before James’ touch. I barely manage not to stumble as he hastens his pace.

“No, no, don’t bother!” he cries out as I try to close the first one.

He’s laughing so merrily I’m tempted to laugh as well, although I really don’t understand what’s going on in this giant house, which looks so empty, so devoid of life. It gives me the creeps and I give a sigh of relief when James finally stops running forward.

I open my mouth but before I can get a word across, he puts a finger to my lips.

“Shhh…”

He pushes delicately open a door in front of us.

“There’s my gift.”

* * *

 

Unlike all others I have seen until now, this room is barely decorated. In fact, apart from the white walls and a chair next to the tiny window, barely letting the daylight in as it is, it is completely empty.

I realize my mistake when James pushes me gently forward.

It’s _almost_ completely empty.

Half concealed in an alcove lies a bed. And an old man, his face starkly lit by a lamp, is lying down in it. He is still, his eyes are closed. But every illusion of his peacefully sleeping is irreparably broken when I hear his laboured breathing or the regular bips of the machines which have been put around his bed.

“Don’t you recognize him?” James whispers in my ear.

I take a step forward.

Then another.

I peer at him carefully.

“Does he not ring any bells?”

I’m aware that James is teasing me, taunting me even. This stranger must be someone important, otherwise he wouldn’t have me brought along here. But who is he? Did I meet him before?

“Come closer, Sherlock, he won’t bite!”

I grit my teeth as I comply, leaning in to better examine the man.

That’s when I glimpse them.

The dark red spots on his right cheek.

The rash behind his ear.

The sallow skin.

And when I finally brush his thinning hair from his brow with a trembling hand, I already know what I’m going to find.

His Alpha Mark has disappeared.

I take a deep breath before pulling back.

“He’s sick.”

“You mean, he’s dying,” James gently corrects me.

I turn to him.

“What’s the meaning of all this? Who is he? Why isn’t he…?”

I stop before completing my sentence. As it turns out, James doesn’t need it.

“Why hasn’t he been sent away, that’s what you wanted to ask?”

He doesn’t wait for my answer and pulls something out of his pocket.

It’s a little portrait – a picture of a proud-looking man, whose unwavering gaze is unnerving me.

“Because, my doubting darling, he’s the same man who ordered that your beloved Victor and all his little friends should be sent away in a camp. Do you understand now?”

A hint of impatience can be heard in his voice. He leans in until his breath warms my skin.

“He’s our beloved, mighty Chancellor and he’s dying. Suffering from the same illness which is now wreaking havoc upon every contaminated man and woman. Look at it!” he says, putting the portrait under my eyes.

“Isn’t he the same man?”

I’m gazing at the man lying down in the bed and back at the portrait.

Now that I’m carefully examining them, looking for it, the resemblance is striking.

“Goodness,” I whisper, trying to understand how it could have happened and miserably failing.

James flashes me a toothy grin.

“I did say you’ve got nothing to be afraid of, didn’t I?”

“But…”

“No more explanations!” he cries out. “Believe me, Sherlock. All of this…”

He stretches out his arms, encompassing in this gesture everything I have seen since I woke up.

“All of this belongs to me now.”

I’m still staring at him, completely out of my depth, when he comes back to me, puts his hands on my hips and draws me closer.

“As you do, darling.”

And without further ado, he kisses me.


	44. Chapter 44

It’s strange how you can waste days and days dreaming of something, wishing with all your might it would happen and when it finally did, especially if you didn’t expect it anymore, it turns out to be a disappointment.

James’ lips on mine shatter every illusion I had ever entertained about our compatibility. This gesture does not speak of love or even respect; It’s all about possession, a will to own me, to brand me as his and to submit me to his lust.

It’s repulsive and I feel nothing but tremendous relief as I harshly shove him away. I wipe my lips with the back of my hand before spitting out the very taste of him.

“You won’t do that again”, I nearly growl.

Nothing but silence greets me.

When I finally glance at James, the gobsmacked look on his face would have made me laugh in other circumstances. He’s staring at me open-mouthed as if he couldn’t believe what he just heard and saw.

And at this moment, I realize that despite all his cleverness and his sharp mind, he hasn’t anticipated my rejection. He must have been so sure that it would be enough for him to reappear, sweeping me off my feet and offering me everything he has dreamed for himself. Which other conclusion to come to than the one where I would swoon in his arms?

 I can’t help but add

“You’ve seen too many Dreamseries if you thought I would give myself to you.”

I immediately become aware it was a mistake to say that aloud. James’ face hardens, a dangerous gleam in his dark gaze.

“I can see that,” he drawls. “You’ve certainly changed when I was away. The Sherlock I knew would have given his right arm for me to kiss him. Don’t bother denying it, darling. I was perfectly aware of the huge crush you had on me when we were off gallivanting around my father’s school.”

I curse once again my pale skin as a flush spreads across my face. James shoots me a mocking smile.

“I see you haven’t forgotten. So, tell me, what prompted this change? Is it the fact that your Unmarked pet has been willing to do all the nasty things I haven’t had the opportunity to do to you?”

He takes a step forward.

“Because, if it comes to that, I’d be willing to make room for him…”

He starts stroking his chest with his left hand in a perfectly suggestive way.

“Actually, I’ve never tried a threesome.”

His hand drifts lower, fingers brushing against the buckle of his belt. I have to look away when he deliberately puts his hand on his member, stroking it through the fabric.

“We could start slow, you know. You two in bed and me watching you…”

He isn’t speaking seriously. He’ll sooner puts John to death than including him in any fantasy he ever had. He’s doing it to rile me up, to anger me so I’ll throw caution to the wind and give away how much I care about John in the process.

I feel rather than see him getting closer.

“What do you say, darling?” he whispers, warm breath wafting over my skin. “Should I order that your little pet be brought over here? Would you like to see him? I’m not a monster, you know, I’ll give you a moment alone with him… You could explain to him the whole situation. Maybe a hands-on demonstration will be necessary, after all.”

I hear the hitch in his breath – he’s becoming excited at this prospect.

A fact which is confirmed when I look down at him and see the bulge in his trousers.

And despite the utter creepiness he’s exhibiting, despite the danger I sense lurking behind James’ little power play, I can’t help but wish John was here with me. Seeing him again, holding him in my arms…

I shiver with want.

A reaction that James doesn’t miss.

“Are you getting aroused, darling? That’s something which can be remedied right away…”

He raises his free hand as if he wanted to touch me, but I neatly dodge him.

“I don’t think so,” I reply in the coldest voice I can muster. “Cut the crap, Moriarty, and tell me what you really want.”

To his credit, he doesn’t miss a beat, giving up all pretence of rubbing one off.

“I want you, of course.”

I feel my lip curling in disgust, but I manage to remain silent. If I do believe he’s thinking himself attracted to me to some degree, I’m guessing James has other plans as far as I’m concerned. He steps back, glancing at the still form of the Chancellor before looking back at me.

“I want all of you,” he softly says, the words echoing in the silent room. “I was the very first, you know, to see you as anything else than a freak or some mistake of nature. Of course, when I heard about you, a male being born an Omega and who couldn’t stand any Dream to boot, I considered you as an enticing oddity. I’ve always liked people who stand out like sore thumbs, that’s so rare in our neat little world! So, of course, I had to meet you. I didn’t have to wait long for the perfect opportunity to do so. Do you remember when we first met?”

I nod, even if James doesn’t expect any answer.

“You were such a shy awkward little thing!” he exclaims, letting out a laugh, as if it was a joke shared between us. “You were so hungry for friendship and acceptance, I couldn’t believe my own eyes. Being in your company felt so refreshing. No power plays, no masks to put on… You liked me as I was, didn’t you?”

This time, I refuse to answer.

“If it was so refreshing as you said, why did you disappear?”

A bitter smile blooms on his lips.

“Ah yes, this incident… I was wondering when you’ll hint at it.”

He comes closer to the Chancellor’s bed, looking at him, hands folded behind his back. Looking like a dutiful son visiting his beloved father.

And then suddenly he spits in the old man’s face. I can’t help but utter a small cry of surprise.

James wipes his lips, glancing at me.

“Don’t feel any pity for him. It was his fault that my family had to get away. My father lost his job and I couldn’t even say goodbye to you. His decision…”

He puts a delicate thumb on the old man’s skin, as if he wanted to stroke his cheek. I shiver when I see him rubbing his spit all over the Chancellor’s face. This time, his victim stirs a little, a little moan escaping his throat. James smiles.

“You don’t like it, do you? Don’t worry, Chancellor, you’ll like even less what I’m going to do.”

And before I can react, he raises his free hand, sharply pulling down the tube placed in the old man’s mouth and connected to one of the beeping machines. The tube comes off, the machine starts immediately sending out distressing sounds.

“What are you doing?” I cry out, rushing to the Chancellor’s bed.

The Chancellor who has opened his eyes, staring at both of us in surprise.

Is he aware of the situation?

I see his lips moving, but I don’t hear any sound.

“What I should have done a long time ago!” James snarls before shoving me away when I want to take the tube from his hands. “Oh no, you don’t! I’ve been patient with you, Sherlock. Now you’re going to stay still and listen to me.”

In spite of his threat, I’m about to attempt another assault when his next words stop me in my tracks.

“Because, if you don’t, I’ll ensure that all your friends suffer a painful death.”

In the silence which follows, only disturbed by the machine’s ongoing alarm, I finally hear what the Chancellor is desperately whispering.

“Please.”

James is looking at me, silently defying me to rebel one more time against him.

A nasty smile quirks up his lips as he noticed me remaining frozen on the spot.

“That’s a good boy,” he purrs.

I clench my fists.

The machine beeps one last time before a sharp sound is heard.

The screen turns dark.

The Chancellor’s mouth remains open, but no sound will ever come again out of it.


	45. Chapter 45

“Now that this matter is settled,” James declares after having finally released the machine’s tube, “let’s talk business. Since you don’t want to hear of my personal feelings as far as you’re concerned, maybe this practical way of handling things will appeal to you, eh!”

He’s back to his smiling, exuberant persona again.

As if he hasn’t killed a man seconds ago.

As if nothing has ever happened.

For the first time since I’ve set eyes on him in the room where I was held prisoner, I feel a chill running down my spine. He’s not only mad, he’s also dangerous.

And now that he killed the Chancellor, doesn’t he have _carte blanche_ to do whatever he wants?

“What do you mean?” I ask, peering at him carefully.

His gaze, when it meets mine, is imbued with such sincerity I’m taken aback.

“I need you, Sherlock. That’s the naked truth.”

He looks away.

“You know, when I found myself sent into exile with my whole family – and before you asked, I had nothing to do with it, blame my father’s greed for our separation – I had a lot of time on my hands. And since I couldn’t stop thinking about you, wondering if you have already forgotten me, I started to do research in order to see if anyone else beside you has ever suffered from such resistance to the Dreams. Do you know what I’ve discovered?”

I shake my head – I can’t really do anything else.

“It may surprise you, but you’re far from being the only one.”

At this moment, I’m reminded of what Alpha Trevor told me about the ones having managed to disrupt the Dream. The ones who weren’t supposed to do that, according to our society’s beliefs. And how they paid this transgression with their life.

“I even found forbidden books, called the “apocrypha”, which tell a whole other story about Cohn and his family than what we were always told about.”

Despite myself, I find my interest engaged.

“Which one?”

James looks at me, thoroughly enjoying how he succeeds in attracting my attention.

“They said that Cohn was unable to send a Dream at first. He got terrible headaches, feeling like his head was splitting in two. He only got over it when he started consuming the Wish Tree plant.”

I automatically look around us, as if someone could hear this sacrilegious lie and report it to the Watcher’s Office. James doesn’t miss it and starts laughing.

“Yeah, first time I read it, I was like you, closing the book and nearly throwing it away! I was so afraid someone would know what I’ve done and give me away… But I told myself I was smarter than all these poor Republic’s spies. Besides, I was intrigued. I’ve noticed a troubling resemblance between Cohn’s story and the symptoms you’ve told me about every time you were trying to receive a Dream. So, I dug into the matter and I found gold.”

He remains silent a little while before shooting me a sly glance.

“I came across lists of people who have been put under lock and key at Stonewall and other prisons. Women who were born with an Alpha Mark on their foreheads or on their wrists. Omegas who were able to send a Dream. Unmarked who suddenly started to receive them. And Alphas who couldn’t do neither. Babies who have been left behind by their parents, children handed over to the authorities.”

I feel a pang of fear deep in my heart.

It could have been me.

It’s certainly written on my face, since James slowly nods.

“Yes, you could have been among these poor sods who were buried alive in Stonewall’s bowels. They were all used as lab rats, submitted to terrible experiments in order to help figuring out what was wrong with them. Which kind of genetic predisposition caused the birth of these misfits. They couldn’t identify it with absolute certainty, they only had clues and it drove them nuts. However, as long as these unfortunate persons were being sent down to jail, it wasn’t really a problem. Until you came.”

His words startle me.

“Me? But I didn’t cause any trouble! Not until…”

“Until you disrupt my Dream long enough to tell people the truth about the illness, you mean.”

“Your Dream?” I repeat, surprised. “I thought it was the Chancellor’s!”

James shakes his head.

“Of course not, my dear. You’ve seen the state he was in, how could you believe he was still broadcasting it? I have been put in charge of it for months now!”

He’s still talking, but I’m not listening anymore.

The realization slaps me in the face and I’m struggling not to let it show.

He has been put in charge of the Dreamseries for months.

And I’ve still managed to disrupt his Dream the first time I’ve ever tried.

Even better – I’ve done it _twice_.

I look at him, really look at him.

James, who is looking every inch the perfect Alpha.

But the truth is, I’m stronger than him.

That’s why he’s so keen on ensuring that I’ll help him, now that he has taken over.

All these “I want you”, all these attempts at rekindling any feelings I might have had for him in the past, all these threats against John and the others, all of this is part of a manipulative, deceitful web he’s trying to weave around me.

Trying to pull the wool over my eyes, tricking me into joining him…

A relief so tremendous it’s becoming more and more difficult to hide is growing inside me.

I might still be alone with James, my friends might still be in prison – because no, they didn’t dare killing them, not when I was still to be convinced – but now I have acquired a formidable weapon.

A weapon which has always been with me, I realize, something I had the opportunity to develop and hone during all these years, while I was still despairing of ever fitting in society.

An ace I’m still holding in my sleeve and that I must not give away until it’ll be the right time to do so.

“Sherlock!”

The shrill voice makes me jump.

James is staring at me, eyes blazing with barely repressed anger.

“You’re not even listening to me…” he whispers.

I can’t help but flinch.

It’s way too soon, I feverishly think, I must learn where the others are detained. Find a way to join them, to be sure they’re all alive.

“I’m sorry but… I’m a bit overwhelmed by what you told me.”

He’s still looking doubtful so I hasten to add

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? Didn’t you have any way to contact me earlier? I thought you were dead!”

“Oh, but I did try, darling,” James retorts. “I did, but I was thwarted at every turn. When I finally found a way to come back to Cohn Island, using whatever means were available to me to gain some influence and ensure that I would never be sent away again, I concluded an agreement with your daddy, you know. We were to be betrothed.”

Suddenly Alpha Trevor’s sentences are coming back to me in a rush.

_However, before we got to conclude any Bonding agreement concerning you and Victor, I learned he was considering another option. The very man he was in debt to…_

“You were his dealer,” I blurt out.

“Yes,” James readily admits, no trace of remorse on his features. “Don’t give me that look, darling, everybody in this fine society is doing drugs. (He joins his hands in a mimicry of prayer.) From the Wish tree’s haze to the cocaine’s thrill, everything is allowed by our Father Above, so why not enjoy it?”

“You sent him to his death!”

James frowns at me, displeased with my sudden burst of anger.

“Certainly not! It’s not my fault he had the astoundingly stupid impulse of sharing his syringe with other druggies.”

He shrugs, as if my father didn’t deserve any other epitaph.

“Anyway, if he has kept his word and signed this goddamned Bonding agreement I’ve drawn up, we shouldn’t have had to wait so long for us to be reunited! I shouldn’t have bought your brother’s involvement the night before you were bound to leave Cohn Island – another failure by the way – nor should I have written to your old cunt of mother-in-law in order to convince her I had some cure for her degenerate son!”

His sentence is still echoing in the silent room when he gives a great sigh. Immediately after, he shoots me another smile.

“But now it’s all over and we’re together again. We must work together, Sherlock, there’s no other way. Especially after you let the cat out of the bag earlier. Let’s make a deal, you and I.

You’ll broadcast the Dream for me, reaching everyone in the process, even the Unmarked people. In return, I’ll take advantage of my current situation to improve the society we both know.”

He steps closer to me, his voice getting stronger.

“Do you realize what it means? No more splits within the society according to whether you have the Mark or not. More equality, more rights for everyone. I’ll make sure that our world will be different from now on. I’ll abolish every camp the Chancellor has established for people suffering from the same illness as Victor. Did you know he has allowed experiments on them, hoping someone would find a remedy?”

He bursts out laughing.

“Well, he doesn’t need it anymore!”

He holds out his hand.

“What do you say, Sherlock? Should we finally be together like I always hoped we would be? Working hand in hand to reform our whole world?”

I look at him. Even lost in his madness as he is, James still manages to appear enticingly convincing.

If I hadn’t seen him putting an old man to death without any mercy, if he hadn’t confessed sending his friends to my house in order to abduct me, if he hadn’t considered my father as another druggie, who might have died out in the streets for all he cared about, I might have been deceived.

Actions speak louder than words, I think, as I slowly raise my hand.

I try not to flinch as my palm touches his.

“We will, James, we will…”

His smile widens, a victorious gleam is shining in his eyes.

I take a deep breath.

The moment of truth has come.

“… provided that you let me see my friends first.”


	46. Chapter 46

James doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest by my request. I’ve played right into his hands, I realize with a sinking heart. But, after all, which other choice did I have? None whatsoever.

He doesn’t answer right away, taking the time to pretend to think this over. He’s still holding my hand in his and I’m doing my best to smother the impulse of pulling it back.

“I can understand the impulse, Sherlock… But if I give you my word they’re all safe and sound, is it not enough?”

He’s toying with me, observing me like a predator with his prey, looking for the right time to sink his teeth into the flesh.

“We’re supposed to trust each other, you know…”

“I may trust you,” I retort, “but not the men you sent to Victory Island. Especially when I heard their commander saying that they could do whatever they wanted with my friends, as if they were disposable things.”

James is raising an eyebrow, looking like he doubts me very much.

“If you don’t trust me now…” I add in a whisper.

He slowly shakes his head.

“None of that between us, darling, we agreed. But of course, if I let you see them, there will be conditions, as you can imagine.”

His grip tightens on my hand as he draws me closer to him.

“Conditions which must be observed to the letter. Otherwise there will be consequences and trust me, you don’t want to deal with them.”

I remain silent.

My gaze meets his.

Holding the contact.

Not letting it go.

My heart is furiously pounding in my chest, my palms are getting sweaty and I fight the furious impulse to blink.

I remain still.

Looking into his eyes.

Until James finally smiles.

“Come on, then. It’s still time for you to visit them.”

* * *

 

Our shared solitude within the walls of the Chancellery was only an illusion, as I discover when several guards appeared as soon as James clapped his hands. He takes the time to shoot me a sly smile, as if he wanted to say “You see? I’ll always be a step ahead of you.”

I don’t give him the pleasure to react and soon enough, we’re walking through another series of corridors like a group of silent ghosts. I follow them automatically, my mind working feverishly to come with a way to save my friends. There’s so many unknown factors though, I feel like I’m wandering through a fog, trying to find a way out with my hands outstretched in front of me.

Are they kept together in a cell?

They must have been injured, I saw the guards hitting them, but to which extent? Are they able to walk? And first and foremost – where have they been held prisoner?

I doubt they have enjoyed the same preferential treatment than I have and my suspicions are confirmed when, after a last flight of stairs, we emerge outside, onto a small private harbour. The brisk wind ruffles my hair and I look up at the stars. I have lost count of the time which has elapsed since our day at the beach and I don’t have any means to check which day we are.

“Come on, Sherlock, don’t dawdle about!” James snaps, waving impatiently at me to board the nearest ship – a sleek speed boat. I hasten to comply, collapsing in the first seat as the boat’s engine lets out a mighty roar. The guards are looking nervous, casting anxious glances at the harbour we have just left and I find out the reason as the boat veers off sharply to the left, racing towards Stony Island, on which Stonewall has been built.

It’s not going quick enough though to stop me from seeing curls of smoke wafting through night air above Cohn Island. As it grows even more distant, I’m able to see here and there the bright glow of open fires. And unless my ears are deceiving me, people are shouting words I’m not able to discern. I don’t know what’s going on, but one thing is sure – James isn’t in control like he pretended to be.

I suddenly feel someone gripping my wrist hard enough to hurt me, even if the skin there wasn’t already bruised. I let out a pained whimper.

“Sorry, darling,” James says with a manic grin, “but let’s look straight ahead, won’t you?”

I don’t bother replying, obeying instead.

Hope and dread are fighting against each other in my heart and I truly don’t know which one is going to win.

* * *

 

Even during daylight, Stonewall has always looked particularly imposing – I remember my Dad pointing it out to me when we were both sailing around Cohn Island.

“Look, Sherlock! That’s where all bad people go when they’re inevitably caught.”

The old fortress looks even more striking tonight – the few lit lamps are casting a dreadful glow on its blood red stone. As we’re coming closer to the landing stage, being tossed around by the turbulent waves, I notice that the soldiers awaiting our arrival and huddling together under the roof of the prison’s entrance are few and far between. Only two of them break away from the little group of their comrades, stepping forward in order to help James’ guards to moor our ship.

Of course, James is the first to jump off the boat and to step upon the stage.

“Come along, Sherlock! No time to waste!”

I silently follow.

* * *

 

Setting foot inside Stonewall is like breaking into the lair of a gigantic monster.

Every little sound echoes in a ghastly way; the clinks and clanks of solid, metallic doors being unlocked and heavy chains being removed actually manage to hurt my ears. And of course, it doesn’t stop James in the slightest from talking a mile a minute. His hands never remain still, fluttering at his side like birds getting trapped in some weird, incomprehensible ballet, as he states and explains his great plans for the future. His speech is interspersed with taunts and barely veiled threats – it seems that the Chancellor’s death wasn’t enough to satisfy his thirst of revenge. I distractedly listen to this, alarmed and fed up at the same time – will he never shut up? As we’re going deeper and deeper into Stonewall’s depths, stale air getting stronger, I observe that I’m not the only one growing tired of James’ exuberant, almost indecently jovial manners. The faces of the soldiers carrying torches in front and behind us harden as they are forced to hear him rambling on and the reluctance they’re showing, as if they were wishing to be anywhere else but here, gives me hope.

Are they aware of what’s happening right now on Cohn Island? Are they actively supporting James’ taking over or are they just putting up with him, waiting to see what he’ll do now?

I ball my hands into fists.

Whatever I’m going to find at the end of this journey, I promise myself I’m not going down without a fight.

* * *

 

As we reach a crossroads, James abruptly stops talking and turns to me, a teasing smile on his lips, as if we were still playing a game whose rules are only known to him.

“So, which one of your little friends do you want to see?” he asks, his voice sharply rebounding on the thick walls surrounding us. “Choose well, Sherlock, you only have one opportunity!”

My first instinct is to protest this, but I bite my tongue and remain silent. James would only coo with pleasure if I bother complaining. I send a silent apology to Molly and Victor as I answer

“I’d like to see John.”

James’ smile turns brittle.

“Fond of your little pet, eh?”

I bite on my tongue a little harder. I stare at him, trying my best not to give my fear or my revulsion away.

“I’d like to see John,” I repeat.

James makes a mocking bow.

“Very well,” he says. He sharply addresses then one of the soldiers “Where have you put the Unmarked brought yesterday morning?”

My heart gives a distressful lurch as I realize how long John has been in Moriarty’s hands. What did they do to him?

“He’s in block B with the others,” the soldier replies, ignoring James’ expression at his slip of the tongue. “But he’s in bad shape.”

I suddenly find hard to breathe.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind!” James breaks off, glaring at the soldier before gripping my sleeve and pulling me along. “Come on, we don’t have all day!”   

* * *

 

I’m walking in a daze.

A puppet clumsily stepping forward after he has been cut free of all his strings.

A thousand Johns are marching past in my mind – John struggling to come up with a remedy in his poor excuse of a lab; John suddenly smiling at me, when we were quietly talking together; John leaning in, ready to steal a kiss I was only too happy to give him; John, jaw clenched, gaze haunted by memories of what he has suffered at Stonewall.

The very prison he has been sent back to.

John.

I’m still feeling guilt about not being able to spare him this terrible ordeal again, but it is by and large surpassed by the anger growing inside me, a wild, ruthless pulse spreading in my whole body, which makes me tremble.

If they have hurt him in any way...

They’re going to pay dearly for this mistake.

* * *

 

“There it is,” the soldier whispers before opening the door. Out of the corner of my eye I see him giving me a pitying glance. And I start to understand why when a strong, metallic odour suddenly wafts over me. I instinctively rush inside, shoving aside a guard who was way too slow to get out of my way.

“Hey!”

“Sherlock, come back here!”

I don’t listen.

On a stone cot, curled up in a miserable little ball, John is lying still, his back to me.

I kneel beside him, ignoring the stench emanating from this whole dingy hole.

“Sherlock, that wasn’t our deal…”

To hell with this, I think, as I whisper his name several times.

He doesn’t stir.

Only the slight swell of his ribs tells me he’s still breathing. I raise a cautious hand, brush it against his hair. His usually soft and fine hair, whose contact leaves now a slight layer of filth and dried blood on my skin.

“Sherlock!”

I can’t stand any longer – I stand up a bit, leaning down on John’s still form.

Peering at his face.

And biting savagely on my lip immediately after.

Smothering the pained whimper threatening to escape my throat.

He has been beaten.

I see the red-blue swelling marks that the batons have left on his features, his hands, his forearms.

He has tried to protect himself, enfolding his head in his arms, enduring all this in silence. Not giving his tormentors the pleasure of hearing him shouting and begging for mercy.

Mercy.

A word I can only too well imagine has been often heard within these walls, yet hasn’t found any echo.

I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder, pulling me violently back.

“It’s enough now, you had your time and…”

Without a word, I twist myself free from James’ grasp, shoving him away. He falls against the opposite wall, his hands against the grimy wall in order to find his balance back. His surprises expression is swiftly replaced with an angry grimace.

“You shouldn’t have done that, darling,” he says, pulling a gun out of his pocket and pointing it directly at me.

At the same time, I feel a slimy, dirty touch prodding at my mind. Something foreign and unkind trying to edge through my mental defences, like a parasite worming his way into a ripe apple.

James is laughingly staring at me, his whole face flushed with victory.

“I shall give one last chance…”

He abruptly breaks off, a frown creasing his face.

“What are you…?”

I’m still watching him.

While ruthlessly destroying his miserable attempt at corrupting my mind.

He tightens the grip on his gun’s handle.

“I warn you…”

“No,” I simply utter. “No, you don’t get to warn me or to threaten me. Not this time.”

And I’m not looking at him anymore. I’m not even glancing at the puzzled faces of the soldiers outside the cell.

I raise my head, looking up.

Observing the centuries-old grim plastered on every inch of these walls.

Feeling the weight of all this stone above my head.

This silent, unyielding stone which has observed so much and has never told anyone.

The same stone watching over John. Molly. Victor.

“Talk to me,” I whisper.

“Who are you talking to?” James screeches in the background.

Never mind.

The anger inside my heart is blazing, engulfing my whole being in outraged, rebellious flames.

Talk to me, I think, as I close my eyes.

Seeking refuge in my Room.

And finding the same dark, gigantic void I’ve glimpsed the last time I entered the Dream.

That’s when I realize I don’t need any sophisticated machine, any antennae unfurling from my seat’s headrest nor soft, fleshy disks stuck to my skin to set foot in this world.

A word suddenly lit by hundreds, thousands of little flames.

I smile.

I only need to speak a word and every Islander will hear me.

Listen to my tale.

They will know the truth.

_No! I forbid it, do you hear me?_

James’ voice reaches me.

His mind is a raging fire, fuelled by an infinite ambition – to bend the world to his will, to shape it into something he has always dreamed of, the perfect achievement of his desires and appetites. He has never considered anyone, not even me, as his equals. If I let him do what he wants, he will rule single-handedly, manipulating and tricking everyone into crawling to him.

_I don’t think so_ , I retort. 

He’s still pointing his gun at me.

Threatening me.

Threatening John.

He’s about to pull the trigger.

And destroy everything, everyone I hold dear.

I’m bursting at the seams, the same voice I’ve already heard when I disrupted the Dream earlier shouting in my head that he gets no right to do that, that it’s unfair, it shouldn’t end like this…

And suddenly the whole prison is talking to me.

Stonewall lets the flow of desperation, grief, powerless fury, pour out of its walls, its floor, of every brick, every stone it contains.

It finally sets free the voices of prisoners died long ago, all the screams shouted with bloody lips, all the tear-stricken whispers, all these calls for mercy which never found any answers. They all trickle in my Room, suffusing it with blood-red light, darkness swirling inside every word, every letter.

It’s a stream so strong, so wild I’m afraid for a moment it will crush me like a fly on the wall. But where there’s anger, there’s also hope.

Where there’s grief, there’s also a thirst for revenge.

For justice.

_Never again_ , they’re telling me. _Never again_.

My smile widens as I join them.

_Never again_.

I reach out for Moriarty.

Ensnaring his mind without any difficulty.

_I’m stronger than you._

I see his wide eyes, his stricken face as he finally realizes his mistake.

Too late.

In the end, it’s as easy as blowing out a candle.

A single breath born out of hundreds, thousands of chests.

A single word escaping their throats, shouted out of their mouths.

_NO._

And Moriarty’s fire is definitely snuffed out.

* * *

 

My work isn’t over yet.

Because they have to know – everyone has to know what has happened.

This time, I don’t bother speaking out to them.

I don’t wait for all these flames to come near me.

This time, I open my mind and release every feeling, every image I’ve got stored inside.

James unplugging the breathing machine.

John beaten, injured, still fighting yet.

The raised voices I can hear from the soldiers outside, not understanding what’s going on.

The fires on Cohn Island, people shouting.

And these three little words – _I’m with you_.

_I’m with you all the way._

I feel them stirring, I sense their surprise, their joy when they hear me.

_Sherlock?_

_Sherlock!_

I hear their support, their hopes, all the battles they’ve already fought and they’re still fighting because of me.

Because I’ve given them the proof that it shouldn’t always be this way.

That another life, another world was possible.

That they shouldn’t have to feel so constricted, so restrained all the time.

_I’m with you_ , I repeat, as I see through their eyes, in their heads what has happened since I’ve talked to them the first time.

The riots, the clashes with the guards, the injured, the dead.

People shouting, destroying, finally daring to show their wrath.

_I’m with you_.

_Sherlock…_

_Sherlock!_

Amidst this chaos, this furious chorus, this storm of blood and hope, I glimpse some familiar voices.

Alpha Trevor.

Violet.

Mycroft.

They’re calling out to me, shouting words I cannot hear and I’m about to come closer to them, to listen to what they’re saying when suddenly pain explodes inside my head.

I barely have the time to realize I’ve been hit.

I stumble, letting out an agonized cry, before falling backwards.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next to last chapter, folks! The end is coming... and remember, don't kill the author ;)

I’m falling.

_Sherlock?_

Falling down a bottomless pit.

_Sherlock? Do you hear me?_

I groan. I feel my eyelids flutter. Light is flooding my vision. Where am I?

_Wake up, Sherlock!_

I know that voice. But it takes too much effort to try to remember. I close my eyes.

Let myself falling down deeper and deeper.

* * *

 

Pain wakes me up.

A sharp gust of fire spreads along my ribs.

I gasp and sit up – or at least try to.

A gesture which sparks off a coughing fit.

I absentmindedly notice that I’m lying down in a bed, the candle put on the bedside casting a soft glow on the white sheets, and that night has once again fallen.

Where am I? What happened?

And as I slowly gain my breath back, memories are suddenly flooding in.

Waking up at the Citadel, James bringing me along, the Chancellor’s death, Stonewall and John…

“John!”

“He’s safe.”

I sharply turn my head on my left, ignoring the pain in my neck.

A familiar shadow is standing next to my bed, and as I recognize it, I feel my heart sinking.

“Hello brother,” Mycroft whispers.

* * *

 

I instinctively recoil, being sharply reminded of the last time I’ve seen him.

“What are you doing here?” I spit out, suddenly perfectly aware of how vulnerable I seem, lying down in this bed, wearing only my nightclothes. My hand clenches the sheets, seeking anything who might be useful to me as a weapon. Something to keep him at bay at least until I can set foot in the Dreamworld again. My head still aches, my mind feeling a bit fuzzy, but you can’t really look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially when you are being threatened.

Mycroft heaves a put-upon sigh.

“I suppose I should have expected your observation powers to be somewhat diminished after your latest _tour de force_ …”

I frown. Glance around.

Oh.

“You’re home, Sherlock,” Mycroft confirms and this simple word, even in his mouth, brings me such unexpected comfort I find myself on the brink of tears. I turn away, desperate to hide the feeling rising in my gut from my half-brother.

I wipe off the tears with trembling fingers. I must recover and collect myself. Mycroft might tell me that it’s my home and that John is safe, I can’t really trust him. I hear his soft footsteps coming closer, immediately followed by a tap-tap sound.

Intrigued, I look at him. He’s walking stiffly, leaning on a cane and when he finally reaches a seat next to the window, he collapses against it with a sigh of relief. I take the opportunity to examine him – the strained, pained expression on his pointy face, the shadows under his eyes… In truth, he’s looking more like a man who got old before his time than my young brother.

“What happened to you?” I blurt out.

I glimpse anger and shame flashing in his eyes for a brief moment while a blush creeps across his face.

“My… friends (he spits out the word as if it has left a nasty taste in his mouth) weren’t too happy to find out you were already gone that night.”

I’m left speechless by that blunt confession. Hinting so deliberately at what happened isn’t Mycroft’s style at all.

“They beat you,” I whisper.

“Correction – they ordered their goons to do so,” he retorts.

The silence settling afterwards between us is awkward and filled with tension. I’m worrying a loose thread of the blanket covering me between my fingers. I know I won’t be able to remain silent for too long – there’s still so much I don’t know!

“I’m sorry.”

I remain frozen before looking up at him once again.

His gaze meets mine.

The candlelight leaves half his face in shadows, but I hear in his voice a raw honesty which has never appeared until now in our past exchanges.

“I… I shouldn’t have done this,” he goes on, nervously fiddling about with his cane’s handle.

I take a deep breath. It might well be the only chance we have to discuss this and even if I’m guessing the broad outline of these events, I would like to know Mycroft’s motives for betraying me so thoroughly.

“Why did you do it?”

He shrugs, looking away.

“For money, mostly.”

I was expecting this but it stings all the same.

“Did you know that when Father died, he left a great deal of debts?”

I bark a laugh, which echoes sharply in the room.

“Yes, that’s what I’ve learned.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting this,” Mycroft says defensively. “And I confess I had some of my own at that time.”

“So basically, you found yourself screwed up.”

Mycroft wrinkles his nose at my familiarity, a sight which might have been hilarious under other circumstances.

“Yes, that sums it up. I had barely started to assess the whole extent of the amounts due when I was contacted by old acquaintances. They said that all our debts would be paid off if I helped them…”

“If you delivered me into their care,” I finish, not even bothering to attempt to hide the irony in that sentence.

Mycroft simply nods, doing his best to put on an inscrutable expression. He’s not doing a good job of it.

“What happened afterwards? And how do I find myself here now?”

“Well, the answer to your last question is directly linked to my answer to the first, so…”

“Go on, then,” I mercilessly insist, settling back against the pillows.

Mycroft looks at me, surprised at my tone as well as my attitude. I can’t help but give him a little smile. Did he think he was still going to face the meek little Omega he has always known?

“When they found out you had fled the house, they were enraged. I tried to deflect their attention from me and for a moment, I thought it had worked, but it soon appeared they haven’t forgotten me,” he drily answers as he’s staring at this cane. “I was able to come back afterwards here and Mother took good care of me. However, it turned out we had other problems.”

“Financial ones?” I ask.

“Of course. But they were all due to the same person who has ordered your abduction.”

“Moriarty.”

“Yes. He seemed to be quite… obsessed with you,” Mycroft adds, trying to hide his embarrassment from me. It only increases when I let out a laugh devoid of all joy.

“That’s an understatement, Mycroft. How did you learn all this by the way?”

“Because I decided that I’ll never find myself in such a situation again.”

“You mean, getting beaten up by thugs or betraying your own family?”

Mycroft’s face flushes crimson this time and I would feel some remorse at exposing him in such a manner if he hadn’t played right into Moriarty’s hands.

“Both of them, I suppose,” he whispers after clearing his throat. “I don’t want to be the kind of man who is… unreliable. Besides, I didn’t understand why Moriarty was taking such an interest in you. I mean, if he only wanted…”

“Someone to warm his bed, that’s right?”

“Yeah… But then it all became clear when you disrupted the Dream.”

The naked wonder on his face is worth a thousand words at this moment.

“I couldn’t believe it was you. It was going against all I’ve been told at school. An Omega who not only was able to send a Dream, but got also in touch with thousands of people at the same time… It was completely unheard of.”

I bite my tongue, not quite ready to share what I’ve learned from Alpha Trevor and Moriarty. Mycroft shuffles his feet a bit, looking down at his shoes.

“At this time, I’ve managed to collect some information on Moriarty and his pals. Besides our family, he intended to target other people. With Mother’s help, I succeeded in convincing them that we would be stronger together. Especially when it became obvious that James was already plotting to seize power.”

I remain silent, absorbing every information I’m told and piecing them together. Who knows what Violet has accomplished once she discovered her precious son to be threatened by such powerful enemies? Even if she found herself in deep water thanks to my father’s legacy, I knew she would have been able to move mountains in order to protect what’s hers. I don’t doubt she has done exactly so.

What I can’t understand is how it involves me and my friends.

“Is your mother aware of what happened the night before I left Cohn Island?”

Mycroft blanches and it’s all the answer I need.

Violet knows.

“She was furious when I told her this. She said… terrible things to me.” He looks up, staring at me. “She made me promise I would find a way to redeem myself in your eyes.”

I’m left quite stunned by all this. Of course, I could doubt Mycroft’s little tale but I’m reminded of Alpha Trevor’s word when he told me how Violet insisted that my father kept his promise to him. If she hasn’t done that…

I give a great sigh. It appears I have misjudged her.

Did I do the same with Mycroft?

Only one way to find out.

“So, you found a way, I assume. That’s why I found myself here, being cared for and not in some Stonewall’s cell.”

He lets out a wry laugh.

“Believe me or not, you managed this on your own. I was only there to nudge things forward, brother.”

“Why are you calling me ‘brother’ now?”

He’s taken by surprise but I can see on his face he has grasped the question I haven’t yet managed to say aloud.

_Do you mean this?_

“Well, that’s true, isn’t it? We’re brothers, after all.”

I stare at him, remembering in a flash everything which happened between us – how he used to deny that we were related, calling me “Omega Holmes”, keeping me at bay as best as he could.

I could still ask him what has motivated this sudden change, even if I have now a pretty good idea of the cause, but I’m growing tired and I have other things to be worried about.

“What happened to my friends? Do you even know their names?”

Mycroft looks offended.

“Of course! You don’t think Alpha Trevor would have forgotten his son and daughter, do you? And he told us about… your friend.”

I’ve never seen my brother looking so out of his depth. It’s quite funny.

“So, they’re here? Safe and sound?”

He hesitates before answering and it’s enough for me to become alarmed.

“Tell me, Mycroft!”

“Yes, they are!” he retorts, surprised and a little annoyed by my vehemence. “Omega Trevor… I mean Molly is all right, she hasn’t been injured physically. As for John, the doctor is hopeful for a complete recovery… and no, you’re not allowed yet to visit him!” he stops me with a glare as I try to get up.

I glare back at him for a brief moment before admitting defeat. For the moment, it’s enough to know he’s well.

“And Victor? How is he?”

Mycroft looks away.

A chill runs down my spine.

I hear myself repeating my brother’s name.

I refuse to believe what I’ve just seen on his face.

When he raises his head, there’s genuine sorrow etched on his features.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. Victor didn’t survive.”


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S A WRAP PEOPLE!!!!! 
> 
> I'm so glad - and a little bit sad too - that this behemoth has finally been brought to an end! And it won't have been possible without you all, dear readers!  
> A mighty THANK YOU to all of you, who left Kudos, comments and who supported me all the way. You're wonderful!!!  
> A special thank you to the best cheerleader I could ever have found - thank you my dearest Pat <3  
> I hope you've enjoyed reading this story as I have enjoyed writing it.  
> I wish you already a Merry Christmas <3  
> Love to all,  
> Links.

_Two months later_

“Sherlock?”

A knock on the door before it opens. Violet appears on the threshold, flashing me a hesitant smile.

“Are you ready? John has just come in.”

I nod, finishing to knot my black-and-white tie. I look at my reflection, satisfied.

“There it is.” I turn to my stepmother and on a sudden impulse, I ask her “What do you think?”

Her benign smile, which used to get on my nerves, blooms on her lips. She looks younger than her years like that.

“It’s perfect. (She hesitates before going on.) Your Dad would have been proud of you.”

I give her a little smile and remain silent. It might come a time when I wouldn’t bristle whenever I hear my father’s name. When I would only remember the good times we had together and not everything which followed. But today isn’t this day and if I don’t hint aloud at my thoughts as far as he’s concerned, it’s only to spare Violet’s feelings about her late husband.

“You look beautiful like this,” I say instead, examining her grey dress, mottled with darker and lighter spots in a very artistic way.

“Glad you think so. I was afraid it was a bit too…” she breaks off, her expression once again drained of her usual confidence. It’s a look I’m getting way too familiar with and I smother a sigh. I never thought I would say that but I’m missing the old Violet, the self-assured woman who didn’t hesitate to tease me or to speak her mind.

Since I’ve escaped Moriarty’s trap nearly unscathed, Violet has become unusually shy in my presence, not quite meeting my gaze and cutting herself off as if she would say something offensive for my ears.

“In short, she’s walking on eggshells around you,” John summed it up one day.

“Yes!” I retorted. “And it’s completely annoying, I don’t understand why she’s doing it…”

“You liar,” he whispered in my ear. “You know perfectly why. Besides, Violet is not the only one to behave like this.”

The worst is that he’s perfectly right.

It doesn’t mean I have to accept it, however.

“A bit too what?” I gently insist.

“Too frivolous, I guess,” she says, glancing down at her dress.

I look at her. Even with the strain these last few months have put on her, she’s still looking every inch the perfect Omega housewife she used to be.

A perfectly honourable appearance which fooled everyone, including me.

I’m reminded how I used to resent her, suspecting her of the worst.

How I openly accused her, the night before my departure, of having killed my Dad.

One more thing we still have to talk about, I think with a little pang of guilt.

“Are you seriously finding it too frivolous or do you believe that’s what people will think when they will see you wearing it?”

She glances at me and for a moment, I see the same woman who has saved my life staring at me, a challenging gleam in her eyes.

“You’re right, I was being silly. It’s perfect like this.”

We smile at each other.

Another little step in the right direction and that’s what really matters.

* * *

 

John is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. As usual, he is leaning down on his cane, a sturdy, black piece of wood, which is perfect for the long walks he’s favouring. It was the first gift I’ve given to him as soon as I was given the green light to definitely leave the house and although I’d have preferred something more romantic – at least something which wasn’t linked to the trauma John has suffered – it has proven to be much more useful than the cane he was given by the doctor treating him.

As soon as he glimpses me coming down to him, a familiar twinkle appears in his blue gaze. I feel myself being warmed all over under his gaze. It’s ridiculous how every one of his gestures – a gaze, the touch of his hand, his laugh – is able to influence me.

And I won’t change it for anything.

“I know today isn’t really suitable for this,” he whispers as I come closer to him, “but I have to say you’re looking positively edible dressed like this.”

I feel a flush spreading across my cheeks.

“You wicked man,” I reply before seizing his face with both hands and putting my mouth on his, bending over him and kissing him with all my strength. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss me back. We stand like this, exchanging tender kisses, until I finally pull back, my hands stroking his hair.

“You can say whatever you want to me, no matter the day it is. We have fought too long and too hard to waste any time in social niceties now.”

John’s smile can outshine the sun right now. And I can read in his blue gaze that he’s thinking not only of everything which has happened on Victory Island, but also everything going on since we’ve both been here.

“Besides,” I add, taking one of his hands between mine, “it’s not only a day to mourn and cry. That’s what this (I point out my black-and-white tie) is about after all. Black for the dead. White for the living.”

John shoots me a knowing look, but doesn’t say anything.

I know though he’s having the same thought as me.

Today, we’re especially celebrating the survivors.

Survivors like him and me.

I suddenly hear behind me someone clearing his throat very loudly. John emits a light snort and I can’t help but smile at him.

“You can come in, Mycroft, we’re both decent.”

“This time,” John adds under his breath.

“Shush you. Don’t traumatize him further.”

“Not my fault he didn’t think of knocking before entering…”

I squeeze affectionately his hand, thinking how lucky I am to have still this man at my side. Getting to know each other again as we were both recovering from our injuries wasn’t all smiles and sunshine. We both have tough times, dark times during which we’ll snap at each other, taking our anger out on the other. We both had nightmares, that you don’t get rid of simply by letting the other, even if you love him with all your heart, kiss them away.

But we get through it together.

And that’s the most important thing in my eyes.

“Are you both ready?” Mycroft asks, trying to hide his ever-present embarrassment behind a haughty tone. “I think Alpha Trevor is already waiting for us.”

Before John can retort a cheeky answer – he does love teasing my brother, no matter how much he denies it – I cut it short and say

“Let’s go then.”

And I definitely don’t smile when I hear a grumbled “Spoilsport” besides me.

* * *

 

Mycroft wasn’t wrong – when we reach the place electing for starting our walk, Alpha Trevor is already waiting for us.

And he’s not the only one.

A large crowd is already gathered along the Bryant quay and there’s still more people coming in. I feel hope fluttering in my chest when I notice Unmarked cautiously looking at Alphas and Omegas, some of them talking to each other.

Behind me, I hear Violet’s sharp intake of breath before coming out of our carriage. She observes the people milling around before exchanging a quick word with her son. I have no doubt they’re already examining who is here, responding to the call I’ve issued for this day and attending the commemoration. Both my stepmom and my brother have acquired a taste for politics since they were forced to form a coalition against Moriarty. I’m not going to lie, their knowledge about influent families and how to best smooth things out with Alphas clinging to their old ways has been a tremendous help in the first days when I’ve just been released from my sickbed. It was unthinkable for me not to take up a stance after everything which happened and I was truly determined to make a bid for power, if it means having the opportunity to improve things as best as they could be.

Violet and Mycroft made me understand I wasn’t alone in this endeavour.

As soon as I set foot on the pavement, I find myself surrounded by people trying to shake my hand, smiling at me.

“Mister Holmes, what a pleasure to see you!”

“Sherlock, how delightful!”

“I’m so happy…”

They’re all looking so eager, so enthusiastic to see me it’s sometimes difficult to remember most of these persons only know me for one thing – the Omega who disrupted the Dream  
The one who started the revolt.

Moriarty’s killer, who did it just like that, snapping his fingers.

A rumour which has been born thanks to one of the soldiers who have accompanied me and Moriarty on this fateful night – maybe the same one who hit me in the head, it’s still unclear who did it and why – and has spread since then like wildfire.

A situation which has its silver linings – people no longer daring to refuse to talk to me – and its disadvantages, like this crowd pressing round me, looking at me starry-eyed as if I was some kind of superhero.

“Back off please, let him breathe!”

Fortunately for me, I have a John Watson, I think, as I observe him, certainly with a foolish smile on my lips, gently but firmly ordering people around. John the Unmarked survivor, who has gained a yet unheard-of status among his community. A community which is no longer closed and quarantined in their own neighbourhoods, I think, as I observe them talking and laughing around.

Soon, there will be no more differences between us all.

Taking advantage of the receding crowd of admirers and well-wishers, Alpha Trevor manages to reach us.

His first smile is for me.

“Sherlock.”

And as usual, he takes me in his arms.

The first time it happened, I remained frozen, unsure of how to react. I finally patted him on his shoulder, terrified somehow of having done something wrong.

It has taken a while and John’s words as well to assuage the terrible guilt which assailed me each time I’ve seen the man.

Each time he has smiled at me, treating me as if I were one of his children.

Never blaming for Victor’s death, never saying I should have done something sooner, I should have saved his son no matter what. I was unable to understand why he didn’t do it, so I unconsciously took it over, piling up the blame against myself until I couldn’t bear it any more.

It was also the first time I’ve seen John so angry at me.

“Why are you doing this to yourself? Don’t you think we’ve already suffered enough? Do you think starving yourself and crying for Victor as well as all the ones you didn’t save would make them come back?”

“No but…”

“You want to do something useful for them? Let them be celebrated. Let them be remembered by their families and friends. Let them be recalled so no one would ever forget them. Let the tears and the smiles flourish. And after this, let them go.”

He has kneeled in front of me, his gaze intent and determined.

“Life goes on, Sherlock. You’ve got to experience it to the fullest. For them, for us, for me but first and foremost, for yourself.”

And he was right.

I gently free myself from Alpha Trevor’s embrace just in time for Molly to throw her arms around my neck.

“My turn!” she merrily cries out before kissing me soundly on both cheeks. I pretend to grumble just to make her laugh.

“Was such enthusiasm really necessary?” I ask, making a show of fussing over my clothes.

“Don’t be a grinch!” Molly retorts, playfully hitting me. “I know you missed me while I was away!” I really can’t resist to her infectious smile, which is hiding so well the scars she gained during her imprisonment. She doesn’t want to talk about them yet and I accept it. We both know I’ll be there when she decides to reveal their full extent. I hug her again, not even bothering to pretend I didn’t miss her while she was dealing with Ethel’s legacy on Victory Island.

Ethel who still hasn’t been found.

Molly gives me a watery smile when I pull back.

“Come on now, don’t make me cry so soon,” she whispers.

I nod. A lump is forming in my throat when I glimpse in her arms the blue-and-white blanket.

Victor’s blanket.

Victor, who could have been there if one of Moriarty’s guards hasn’t shot him in the head.

The fact that the culprit has been arrested and promptly sentenced to life imprisonment has been a small comfort.

A hand slips inside mine.

“Come on, love, let’s take this walk,” John whispers, intertwining our fingers.

* * *

 

On a summer day, as the sky above our heads is the palest blue, we’re walking in silence.

Thousands and thousands of people are walking behind me.

Each one clutching against his chest, held in her hands something who belonged to the one they’re mourning – a portrait, a child’s ball, a war medal, a blood-stained letter, a blue-and-white blanket.

It’s a silent walk to the Bridge of Sighs, where it has been agreed that some families would pour the ashes of the deceased in the river below.

It’s a silent walk, but not a mournful one.

I hear a few laughs, a few sobs.

People talking softly together – “Do you remember…?”

Some have even found musical instruments and have started playing, a haunting tune which is easy to catch.

Someone is singing under her breath.

_And as hard as they would try they'd hurt to make you cry_

_But you never cried to them, just to your soul_

_No, you never cried to them, just to your soul_

We’re walking.

We’re walking for the ones who died.

We’re walking for the ones who survived.

We’re walking for the ones who hoped.

We’re walking for the ones who lived to tell the tale.

We’re walking for the ones who fought and are still fighting.

We’re walking for all of them.

We’re walking because we won’t – we don’t – forget.

As I see relatives softly opening the lid of the urns before tipping the ashes into the murmuring water below, I feel for the first time a certainty growing inside me.

We have done much – closing the camps, gathering information on the illness, making sure that everyone will be taken care of as best as possible – and there’s still much to do – bringing the war on the Continent to an end, finding a cure or at least a sure testing system, fighting against the prejudices and everything we’ve been told.

But we’re going to make it.

I can feel it in my heart.

Deep down in my bones.

I squeeze John’s hand.

It’s only a beginning.


End file.
